


The Painter

by Devildream69



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Children, Angst, Child Death, Drama, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Full term pregnancy, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Rape, Psychological Drama, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rating May Change, Rating: NC17, Rating: PG13, Unplanned Pregnancy, descriptions of rape, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 12:44:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 56,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1688786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devildream69/pseuds/Devildream69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy Sachs Goldman is a celebrated painter. She paints the rich and famous all around the world. Or, she did, until two years ago when she dropped off the grid entirely and became almost hermit-like. But now after her self-imposed exile, she is back in the public eye. Miranda Priestly has only a vague recollection of ever hearing about AS Goldman, but when she meets the woman in the flesh, her unexpected offer of a portrait surprises her into accepting. Will these two women find a balance between their two personalities and get along for the sake of the portrait? Or will Andy's past come back to haunt them and tear them apart irreparably?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Our Little Gathering

**Author's Note:**

> (A/n: Enjoy the read. I appreciate comments very much. It helps me to keep writing!)

 

“Painters must speak through paint, not with words.”  
-Hans Hofmann

 

Andy was beyond ready to leave. How much longer would they have to stay?

She’d been there for about two hours, talking about things she didn’t give a damn about and smiling like some masochistic Barbie doll the entire time.

She glanced around to find her husband in the crowd and waved at him to come over. He waved back feigning incomprehension, and smiled with that politically correct smile of his. All American, all capitalist, all stereotypical rich republican white man.

Sometimes she wondered why she even bothered to smile back. Three years into their marriage and already there was discord. She would have left him by now if it weren’t for--

“Andy darling, how is Henry doing with his latest investment in Valentino’s new perfume advertisements?” the man standing beside her asked, his round glasses perched on his nose quizzically.

Andy smiled, and turned to speak to the bald man beside her, whose name she slipped her mind for a moment— Nigel Kipling, she thought his name was. The senior assistant editor of whatever at Runway magazine.

“Wonderful of course. Valentino is always a good investment.” She replied, wondering how much longer she would have to pretend to be interested in this conversation.

“Excellent. It truly was a fabulous season. And I must say, your dress is just lovely. This season’s Chanel. Perfect choice as always.”

“You flatter me.” Repressing the urge to roll her eyes, she looked at the glass of champagne in her hand and considered taking a sip, then thought better of it.

“Not at all.” He said, trying to seem sincere. Andy had long learned to see past false sincerity. Someone behind her caught his eye. He waved at the person he was no doubt about to speak to about something far more interesting, and murmured an absentminded good bye.

She supressed the need to groan. Her shoes were killing her and her feet would not forgive her in the morning. Andy fiddled with the ridiculously expensive marriage ring on her finger, feeling how loose it was sitting there like a chain, rattling around, waiting to fall off. She’d have to get it adjusted again. She’d have to tell Lily to remember to set an appointment with the jeweller.

A murmur rushed through the crowd and a few gasps from nearby guests attracted her attention. And clearly, someone had caught their attention. Who could it be?

She followed their looks of awe to the grand stair case, where a regal, white haired woman with striking blue eyes was gliding down the steps to the ballroom floor.

She heard the answer to her earlier question murmured across the throng of glittering false smiles. Miranda Priestly. The indisputable iron fist of the fashion world.

Even Andy, who cared little about fashion, knew who she was. She’d just never seen her in person before. Andy had heard rumors of her strict work ethic, whispers of sub-zero temperatures, the Devil in Prada, the Snow Queen, a nickname that had apparently become well deserved.

She had to admit those blue grey eyes must be truly terrifying when furious.

Her hand began to tingle, almost like an itch she couldn’t get rid of. She wanted to paint. More specifically she wanted to paint this woman. She wanted to spend hours getting the colours right for those eyes, to work till she could barely think about anything else.

She clenched her fingers in a fist.

She knew she was staring but couldn’t bring herself to care enough to stop. It had been a long time since anyone had caught her artist’s eye like this woman had.

“I know that look.” She jumped, startled, not having realised her husband had come up behind her. “Who is it this time?” He asked, his face too close for comfort. His breath smelled like too much whisky and cigarettes.

“Henry, god you scared me.” She quickly unclenched her hand and looked away from Miranda, hoping he hadn’t really noticed who had caught her attention.

“Oh, sorry.” He didn’t look the least bit apologetic.

He peered around the room trying to find the person who had sparked her interest.

“Ah.” He smirked knowingly. Damn, he’d noticed. “Miranda Priestly. I should have known she’d be the one to catch your eye.”

More like the other way around. It was Miranda’s eyes that had caught her, after all. She sighed and nodded.

“It’s not as though I could do anything about it.” She hated how defensive she sounded. She shouldn’t have to justify herself to him.

“Ask her.”

Andy raised her eyebrows in incredulity. He said that as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

“What do you expect me to do? Waltz up to her and just ask her if I can paint her?” Not bloody likely to go down well if the rumors were true, no matter how much Andy wished she could.

He raised an eyebrow as if to ask ‘Why not?’ She rolled her eyes at him impatiently.

“Henry, we haven’t even met. If we had, things might but different, but—”

“Well then we’ll have to remedy that situation don’t you think? And here is our chance.” The people Miranda had just been speaking to were leaving, after greeting their hostess as was polite.

“You can’t be serious—” she tried to say, “Henry!” Andy exclaimed.

Henry had waved at the white haired woman before Andy could stop him. Miranda smiled back, with a vacant look in her eyes. For an insane moment, Andy wondered if Miranda was just as bored as she was.

Henry guided them over, putting a possessive hand on her hip. She flicked a glare at him to let him know his gesture was entirely unappreciated and unnecessary. He released his grip on her after noticing her displeasure.

She watched, enraptured, as Miranda tilted her head to the side, her pale neck at an elegant angle, almost demure yet sharp in its appearance. Her long silver earrings played around her shoulders, and the light flickers through them, refracting in the topaz stones.

She was listening, no doubt, to her ever present assistants informing her of who was approaching. The red head behind her stuttered, clearly at a loss, and a blonde girl stepped forward to fill in the blank of the names the desperate red head was searching for.

She had a moment to take a breath before they were standing in front of Miranda Priestly herself. Andy couldn’t help but feel a bit intimidated.

“Henry, we’re so glad you could make it to our little gathering,” Miranda smiled blandly. Clearly, Andy’s husband’s reputation for boring conversation, preceded them.

“How are things at Goldman Sachs and Co.?”

He practically puffed out his chest with pride, as he said, “Swimmingly of course. We’ve just secured another merger, this time with Warner’s people.”

“How delightful.” She gave him a placating smile, “Now, I’ve been remise in my manners. I don’t believe we’ve met…?” It took a second for her to realise Miranda was speaking to her.

“Andy, er—” she stuttered, “That is, my name is Andrea but everyone calls me Andy.” She shut her eyes, and winced in utter mortification at her inability to answer a simple question. She opened her eyes to see the silver haired woman’s mouth twitch at the right corner, trying not to sneer at her.

Andy took a deep breath and tried again. “Andrea Sachs Goldman” She managed, noticing the slight tremor in her voice.

She supressed a cringe but leaned in for an air kiss which Miranda reciprocated, without any further incident.

“Andrea.” The way Miranda said her name was different than the way she’d said it. She’d never heard anyone say it that way before. It sounded almost exotic. She liked it.

“Actually Miranda,” Henry began with what she supposed he thought was a dashing smile but looked like a leer more than anything, “Henry please we really should—” she tried to interrupt him.

Undeterred he continued. “My wife was wondering if you had any interest in having a portrait done.”

An awkward, if vaguely curious smile was Miranda’s reply to the proposition.

“Henry!” Andy glared at him in annoyance, “Please, forgive my husband. He can be very direct when he set his mind on something.”

The smile became almost predatory when she replied, “You are an artist? Have I heard of you?”

“I— Yes. Well, probably. You might know my pseudonym better. A.S Goldman.”

She watched Miranda frown for an instant, and then recollection dawned. “Ah, yes, I think Vanity Chair did a blurb on your Gallery three years ago in Paris. Remind me what your genre is again?” Miranda asked.

“Watercolor portraits.” She said hoping the editor would let the subject drop.

“Portraits, really? And who have you painted recently?” she asked.

“Recently, not very many.” Andy said evasively. “Two years ago I painted Catherine Zeta Jones, Emily Blunt, Helene Mirren and a few others.”

Miranda quirked an eyebrow and her eyes flickered with what Andy thought might be interest.

Those blue grey eyes look her up and down appraisingly, as if seeing her truly for the first time.

“We’re holding a grand opening for Andy’s new gallery on Columbus Avenue on the 21ist.” Henry said, sticking his foot in his mouth as per usual. Andy tried very hard not to elbow her husband in the ribs. “We’d be very glad if you’d come by, if you have the time.”

“Perhaps.” She murmured, non-committal, with a falsely bright smile. Miranda looked over Henry’s shoulder and waved at someone behind them. Andy turned to see Irving Ravitz, chairman of Elias-Clarke, coming over with Jaqueline Follet.

“Irv, my dear man! How have you been keeping? It’s been far too long.” Henry enthused with his ever present Ken doll smile.

“Henry Goldman, I haven’t seen you in a dog’s age.” Irv declared, trying to appear pleased to see him again, “And this I take it, is your lovely wife. Mrs. Sachs Goldman. You’ve done well for yourself or so I hear, Henry.”

Andrea tried not bristle at being talked about like an object. She looked Irving Ravitz up and down with an annoyed glance and decided immediately she didn’t like the man. From the corner of her eye she saw Miranda watching her.

Jacqueline’s smile was polite if a bit feral looking, as Irv introduced her to Andrea.

“You’re the artist everyone was excited about seeing earlier aren’t you?” Jacqueline asked in her raspy French accent.

“Excited about seeing me here?” Andy asked perplexed.

She hadn’t hear any such thing. Compliments certainly but actually wanting to see her after 2 years out of the public eye was a bit excessive—

“Hey! When do we eat?!” Called out an obnoxiously loud voice. Many people turned to look and see who it was.

Andy noticed Miranda go white, seeing a man in his late fifties approach, empty scotch glass in hand, clearly inebriated.

“Darling, there you are.” Miranda murmured, with a worried smile, approaching him quickly. She was undoubtedly trying to avoid a scene.

“Yeah, it’s been a banner evening. Three people didn’t recognize me, one called me Mr. Priestly, and now the damn bartender won’t even serve me.” Miranda winced, although Andy didn’t think anyone else noticed seeing as she kept smiling, trying to placate this man who was clearly her husband. Miranda Priestly seemed to be very good at hiding her emotions, Andy noted.

“Hey, why don’t you get me another drink,” Miranda’s husband said, speaking to Irv Ravitz, “He’d have to listen to you eh little guy?”

Andy watched as Irv’s face darkened with indignation. At that moment Andy knew things were going to get ugly if someone didn’t break the tension. Seeing as she was the closest one standing to Irv, she decided to act.

She deliberately dropped her champagne glass, letting it shatter on the marble floor, like so much trash.

Miranda managed to step away from the mess it made just in time, but her husband wasn’t so lucky. It spilled all over his shoes.  
He cussed loudly, and glared at Andy who simply gave him her best puppy dog eyes.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!” Andy exclaimed, pretending to be worried.

A nearby server quickly arrived and cleaned up the mess. All the while Andy continued to apologise profusely to Miranda’s husband.

“What a klutz! Damn. My shoes are soaked.” He glared once again, but Andy was unfazed. Her father’s glare had made her immune to the ‘big macho man angry look’ men seemed to think worked so well on women.

“Stephen, darling, I think you had better head home. You can’t spend the rest of the party in soaked shoes. Let me call the car.” Miranda said with a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. To everyone’s relief, Stephen was shepherded away without much trouble.

After everything had been put to rights once again, the atmosphere had turned awkward and it was clearly time to leave. Suddenly, Andy got another idea. Spotting John Foldgier, the new artistic director at Chelsea Radburn she smiled at her husband.

“Henry why don’t you and Irv and Jacqueline ask John about those stocks you were talking about earlier. I’m sure he’d know the answers to your questions.”

Blessedly, Henry took the hint and led Irv away, with Jacqueline in tow, talking his ear off about the latest merger once more.

Suddenly, Andy was acutely aware that she was left alone with Miranda.

“Thank you.” Miranda murmured, much to Andy’s surprise.

Andy decided to play innocent. “For what?” she asked coquettishly.

Miranda looked at her knowingly. She had clearly not been so easily deceived by Andy’s maneuver.

“You’re welcome.” She muttered under her breath.

“Why did you do it?” Miranda asked just as quietly.

“I’ve dealt with my share of drunken husbands before.” She paused and looked around the ball room, feeling very tired of the fake smiles and dreary conversation. “I think I’ll go get myself another drink.” She said to get away from the conversation.

“You shouldn’t drink.” Miranda looked her up and down, her gaze stopping at Andy’s middle. “How far along are you?”

Andy gapped at her. How had she noticed? Not even Henry knew yet.

“What makes you say that? Because I’m not a size 0?” She said trying to pretend to be indignant but still keep the conversation light.

“You had that glass for the longest time and yet it was still full when you dropped it.” Andy looked away again feeling self-conscious. This woman was truly observant. No wonder she was a force to be reckoned with.

“You haven’t told him yet.” She said looking her up and down once more. Those eyes really were piercing when they were intent on something, Andy noted.

“I think that’s up to—”

“No, no that wasn’t a question.” Miranda said cutting her off.

Andy didn’t reply.

“Never mind, it’s of no great consequence to me. Make an appointment with Emily, shall we say, Sunday at 3pm?”

“Appointment for what?” Andy asked stunned by the sudden shift in conversations.

“For my portrait of course.” Andrea’s mouth fell open, quite unattractively causing the other woman to smirk.

“I will see you then Andrea.” And with that, Miranda glided off to another circle of people, with a distraught looking redhead and a stressed out blonde following in her wake.

Andy stood watching her for a moment longer before rejoining her husband.

Yes, Miranda Priestly would certainly be and interesting subject to paint, Andy could already tell.

-To be continued-


	2. Finding The Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy Sachs Goldman is a celebrated painter. She paints the rich and famous all around the world. Or, she did, until two years ago when she dropped off the grid entirely and became almost hermit-like. But now after her self-imposed exile, she is back in the public eye. Miranda Priestly has only a vague recollection of ever hearing about AS Goldman, but when she meets the woman in the flesh, her unexpected offer of a portrait surprises her into accepting. Will these two women find a balance between their two personalities and get along for the sake of the portrait? Or will Andy's past come back to haunt them and tear them apart irreparably?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/n: If you've got the time, I'd be happy to hear from you. )

  
  
"There is, I am convinced, no picture that conveys in all its dreadfulness, a vision of sorrow, despairing, remediless, supreme. If I could paint such a picture, the canvas would show only a woman looking down at her empty arms." - Charlotte Bronte  
  
  
The shrill ringing of her phone woke Andy up at the ungodly hour of 5:45am on Sunday morning.  
  
“‘Ello?” she answered still half asleep.  
  
“There has been a change of plans.” The voice of a very alert British red head said.  
  
“Who on earth—?” Henry asked groggily and Andrea groaned and got up to take the call in the next room.  
  
“Miranda will be there at precisely seven o’clock this morning—”  
  
“Emily….” Andy tried to interrupt the British woman who was obviously in a tizzy about the apparent last minute change of plans.  
  
“—seeing as the Chairman decided to wait until yesterday afternoon to announce that the board meeting would be held at 3pm on a Sunday. Therefore please accept our sincere apologies and--”  
  
The Brit seemed to not have heard her so she repeated, “Emily.”  
  
“Yes, what is it?” The Brit asked sharply on the other end of the phone. “I can’t this morning. I have a doctor’s appointment. It’s important and I really can’t cancel it. So please don’t go through all that trouble and ask Miranda what day next week would be better for her and we’ll see what we can manage. Now, I’m going to hang up and go back to sleep.”  
  
The Brit had the gall to try and protest but Andy was having none of that. “And so help me god if you call back and start ranting again I will make sure Valentino never lets you wear anything he made again ever. Am I clear?” She heard the Brit gasp and then gulp audibly.  
  
“Crystal.”  
  
“Good and Emily?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Don’t ever call at such an obscenely early hour again. It really is bad manners. Have a nice day.” Andy said in a quiet, sickly sweet voice.  
  
She hung up without waiting for any reply. 5:48am on a Sunday. Ridiculous.  
  
Andy went back to the room and crawled back into bed and tried to get back to sleep, despite already dreading her doctor’s appointment.  
   
 

* * *

  
   
At 6:45am on the dot, another phone call woke Andy up. She picked up the phone groaning in annoyance.  
  
“This doctor’s appointment can’t be postponed?” The cold, unforgettable and very irate voice of Miranda Priestly asked on the other end of the phone.

“Good morning Miranda.”  
  
“A good morning it is not.” Miranda snapped.  
  
“Your right it’s not.” Andy agreed, piqued now, “I keep getting calls from people far too early in the morning. I must be living in New-York or something.”  
  
“I asked you a question.”  
  
“No it can’t. I really can’t put it off any longer. If you had been able to come at 3pm as we’d agreed previously that would have been fine but—”  
  
“Next Wednesday at 5pm.”  
  
“See you then.” She could almost hear Miranda roll her eyes at Andy’s falsely cheery voice.  
  
She heard a click and realised Miranda had hung up.  
  
Andy hmph’d at the phone in her hand. Till next Wednesday then.  
 

* * *

  
Andy came back from the appointment, with only one thought in mind. Getting the right color for the eyes. Those damnable, hypnotising, piercing blue eyes.  
  
Andy sat down at her atelier and began to paint immediately. She mixed blues after blues together with greys, whites, and every color she could think of and still she was having trouble with finding the exact color of the eyes she had stuck in her mind. A grey blue shade, the color of ice itself. She spent the better part of the morning trying again and again. Frustrated, after hours of no success, she decided to give up and cleaned up her paints and brushes briskly.  
  
She needed the live subject here or else she was sure she’d never get it right. So instead she sketched Miranda’s face, her profile, different angles, her smile, her curious expression, her cold indifference. By the time the sun was going down and she had at least a dozen different sketches of the woman whose face, voice and eyes she could not get out of her head.  
  
She hung the drawings on the walls of her studio and was thankful for her husband’s absence seeing as he would have probably forced her to stop and eat dinner.  
  
She couldn’t stop. It was unthinkable to her to stop working.  
  
The need to draw and paint this woman was overwhelming to her. Something about her face, her mannerism, her elegance, the angle of her neck, the spark in her direct gaze as she spoke to you. All of that and more drew Andy in like a moth to flame. As was her habit with every new subject, she began to do a thorough Wikipedia background check on Miranda Priestly on her computer. She printed images off of google and used them as temporary subjects.  
  
Some hours later, a knock on the door and a dim awareness that the windows were now dark appeared in her mind.  
  
“You aren’t in bed yet?” Henry’s voice said from the door behind her.

“Obviously not.” She answered distractedly, but her tone implied no real sense of meanness, simply a distracted voice as though she was barely aware she’d said it.  
  
“There is something bothering you. There has been for the past few weeks, I can tell. Won’t you tell me?” Henry asked.  
  
Andy made her chair swivel around to face her husband who was standing in the door frame.  
  
“I’m pregnant.” She murmured, her eyes shut tight, braced for the reaction. The tense silence that followed was so thick she could have cut the air with a knife.  
  
“Andy, are you sure?” he asked, his words stilted.  
  
“Yes.” Oh yes. She was sure. 100% sure. She could practically hear him thinking, ‘Not again. Oh god not again.’ In fact she was almost certain she could hear him thinking it, especially seeing as she too had thought those words a thousand times over since this morning.  
  
“How far along are you?” His voice was filled with a strained curiosity.  
  
“3 months now.”  
  
She watched as he covered his face with his hand, and sighed heavily.  
  
Andy’s hand wound unconsciously to her middle. She didn’t know if she could bare it if they lost this one too.  
  
“Come to bed. We’ll talk more in the morning.” Henry held out his hand to her and she stood and took it.  
  
Once both were in bed, and the lights were switched off, the realness of her pregnancy finally washed over Andy.  
  
“I can’t lose this one. I won’t survive it.” She murmured to the dark celling. Henry’s hand reached out under the covers and took her own small one in his.  
  
“I know.”  
  
Silent tears streaked down the sides of her face and wet the pillowcase beneath her head.  
  
If she lost this child, she would die.  
 

* * *

  
   
The doorbell rang at precisely 15 minutes before 5pm, just as Emily had predicted.  
  
She thanked god for the British woman’s foresight in telling her to expect Miranda to be early for their appointment.  
  
Andy opened the door and swiftly moved out of the small hallway to allow the white haired woman to enter into the flat.  
  
“Hello Miranda, thank you for coming.” Andy said in a pleasant voice.  
  
“Andrea,” she replied in greeting, using that same accent on her name that she’d used at the benefit. Andy couldn’t help the small smile that found its place on her mouth.  
  
Miranda looked her up and down once quickly assessing Andy’s appearance. It was a habit of hers apparently. Andy had noticed her doing it at the party each time she had greeted someone.  
  
Miranda removed her black fur coat and Andy took it from her and hung it quickly in her hall closet. She seemed determined to get right to it and Andy was in a likewise mood.  
  
They were not here to socialise.  
  
“This way please,” Andy said.  
  
Andy was undeniably anxious. Her breathing shallow and she could only hope Miranda wouldn’t notice. It had been a long time since she’d had a live subject to work with. And something about this woman drew her in. Andy fidgeted nervously with the long silver necklace she’d decided to wear the night before. What had prompted Miranda to accept her offer of a portrait? The woman barely knew her, much less her work and yet—here she was.  
  
Andy wondered if she would ever get the answers to that question. ‘Probably not’ she thought, and suppressed a smirk.  
  
She led Miranda down the hall and into the flat towards her studio. The room in question was painted ivory and was decorated with neo-classical accents, a bust of a roman statue, a comfortable brown leather settee, a pair of matching brown leather armchairs, white roses in a vase on her mahogany coffee table, huge floor length windows that had a view over the city around it. Andy’s father had suggested the flat for her and Henry when they had come back from their honey moon.  
  
She’d been so young and naïve back then.  
  
Andy suppressed a sigh. As soon as Andy had set eyes on the studio, she’d accepted. It had become her sanctuary. Only a precious few people had been allowed in. She had filled it with her art hung on the walls, her work table with all her pencils and papers, which was currently buried under sketch upon sketch of Miranda.  
  
Andy watched Miranda, glancing around the room. She didn’t appear displeased, but Andy doubted she would ever be able to read this woman’s reactions with any basis of accuracy. Miranda was wearing a Thakoon plum coloured sheath which cut smartly across her shoulders accentuating her regal neck and the sharpness of her face. She wondered, if Miranda had any idea of how truly beautiful she looked in that instant. Andy’s eyes traced the lines of her form, in the way she did when appraising a work of art. Much like an architect might look at a building plan, Andy mapped out the shape of Miranda with her artist’s eyes.  
  
“What exactly is it that we are doing today?” Miranda asked.  
  
Andy started. She had been caught staring. Shit.  
  
Andy made a mental note; no drifting off into Andy–land with Miranda around. Got it.  
  
“Sorry.” Andy muttered as an apology, vaguely embarrassed. Miranda waved her hand dismissively. Alright then.  
  
Andy took a deep steadying breath. “The first thing we should do, is figure out what poses you are most comfortable in for the duration of— oh, say an hour— and then work from there.”  
  
This time Miranda nodded.  
  
“Where would you like me to be?” Miranda said, looking at Andy for the first time since entering the room.  
  
“On the armchair, if that’s alright with you. Please make yourself comfortable.” Miranda nodded and did as she was bid.  
  
“Would you like some tea? Coffee maybe?”  
  
“No.” She replied continuing to glance around the room.  
  
Andy was getting the distinct impression that Miranda would rather not be here. Her posture was stiff, her manners restrained, and she appeared for all the world like she was reading lines from a book while a gun was being pointed at her. Why on earth was she here if that was how she felt about it?  
  
Andy didn’t yet dare ask, sensing that it would be an unwelcome avenue of questioning. It wasn’t as though Andy had any right to know such a thing. They weren’t friends after all…they were—Andy didn’t really know what they were. Business partners maybe?  
  
“Alright then.” Andy said, reaching for a sketch pad and pencil, “We’ll start with sketches and move on from there.”  
  
Miranda nodded absentmindedly.

Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t that she didn’t want to be here. Maybe it was something entirely different bothering her today. Her husband maybe. Miranda continued to sit with a tense posture and tried to stay as still as possible. Oh no, this wouldn’t do at all.  
  
“Miranda—” Andy began, then stopped when she saw the way Miranda looked at her. A look that said, ‘Go ahead, question me, I dare you.’ Andy wasn’t in any way shape or form interested in taking her up on that dare. She rather put her head in a lion cage then face an annoyed Miranda Priestly, if she was being completely honest.  
  
“Yes?” Miranda asked turning to look at her sharply. Instead of answering, Andy just smiled patiently and decided it would be easier to show her what she wanted than to try and explain it. Andy walked over to where Miranda was sitting and then reached out hesitantly to just almost touch Miranda’s shoulders.  
  
“May I?” Andy asked permission to pose her. Miranda nodded, appearing surprised by her request. Andy supposed it was a normal reaction for someone like Miranda. Not very many people touched her willingly. She was a very intimidating person after all. Andy doubted, anyone would dare touch her casually.  
  
Andy pressed lightly on Miranda’s shoulders until they were lower down, more relaxed. Then she took Miranda’s hand and placed it lightly on the arm of the chair. The other, she placed across her lap. Her hands were cool, some small part of Andy’s mind noticed. She tilted Miranda’s chin towards the window, brushing her fingers along her jaw. Andy felt her flinch, but did not stop. She knew exactly what she was looking for, and she would brave Miranda’s ire to get that perfect pose. The light had to catch her eyes and her white hair just so, to make everything luminous and create the air of ‘caught-in-a-moment’ that Andy was searching for.  
  
“Are you quite finished?” Miranda glared at Andy, her lips pursed in annoyance.  
  
“Not quite.” Andy said, ignoring her annoyance, but making a note for future reference. Miranda didn’t appreciate being touched unless absolutely necessary. Ok. Andy could do that. Then Andy saw, it. That look, that angle of the head, the light in her cold eyes, the way her hair fell across her forehead.  
  
Right there.  
  
Perfect.  
  
“Freeze right there.” Andy murmured.  
  
Miranda as if sensing Andy’s urgency, did as she was bid and stood stock still. Andy rushed back to her easel and sketch pad and began drawing the lines furiously, sketching the outlines and then quickly filling in the detail as she went. Miranda kept her eyes on Andy, the whole time. This was certainly going better than Andy had imagined it would.  
  
She’d been worried Miranda wouldn’t be receptive to her directions and would leave, annoyed by her intrusive take on portrait painting. By the time she was done, a good half hour had passed and Andy had the first sketch done.  
  
The look in Miranda’s eyes was very striking but also unreadable. It was full of heated emotion but hid everything all at once. Strangely similar to the woman it belonged to, Andy mused.  
  
“Alright,” Andy said at last. “Would you like to take a break?”  
  
Miranda seemed to snap out of her reverie and blinked at Andy.  
  
“Yes.” Miranda said, in a clipped, slightly rough voice. Miranda stood up slowly and surreptitiously rolled her shoulders back, stretching slightly.  
  
“Water?” Andy offered and instantly regretted it. Great. No of course not, stupid. Shit. If Miranda had wanted water she would have asked for it— instead of the glare Andy had been expecting, Miranda simply nodded again.  
  
Andy left the studio to get a bottle of Perrier and a glass for her, while at the same time, giving her the chance to stretch out without being watched. She got the sense that Miranda was a very private person.  
  
She went back to the studio, glass and bottle in hand. Miranda was standing in front of her easel, looking at the sketch Andy had done. Andy had to stop herself from sighing as she looked at Miranda, enjoying the way her form was silhouetted by the sun going down. She really was elegance made flesh. But then, ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder’, always had run true with Andy. She’d been told by many people that she saw beauty where few even dared to look for it. Especially in people. Henry had commented that it wasn’t the person’s appearance that mattered to Andy; if they had a personality Andy found beautiful, she would see it, and attempt to translate that beauty to paper.  
  
“Here you go.”  
  
Miranda started and spun around.  
  
“Oh sorry.” Andy apologized, slightly abashed that she hadn’t made her presence known before speaking. She needed to be more careful around Miranda. God only knew how many missteps the woman would allow before she got truly fed up an just stormed out like a dragon heading to high dungeon.  
  
“It’s fine.” Miranda said and took the glass of water from her. Andy put the bottle on the coffee table.  
  
“How did your doctor’s appointment go?” Miranda surprised her by asking. She wasn’t looking at Andy. Why wasn’t she looking at her? Was she nervous as well? That seemed unlikely.  
  
“Fine.” Andy replied not able to prevent her shoulders from tensing. “It went well, thank you for asking.”  
  
“How far along are you now?”  
  
“About three months.” Andy replied trying not to sound terse and failing. She cleared her throat lightly and looked away from Miranda.  
  
“Not quite out of danger then.” Miranda said with no small amount of implication  
  
 _‘No,’_ Andy agreed silently. _‘Not quite out of danger at all.’_  
  
Andy shook her head even though Miranda couldn’t see her.  
  
“Do you like the sketch? Are there any changes you would like for me to make?” Andy dared to ask wondering if she actually wanted Miranda to answer that or not. Maybe it would have been better not to know.  
  
“You have talent.” Miranda said, looking back at the sketch. Which did not necessarily mean she liked it, but Andy would take what she could get.  
  
“Thank you. I trained in Flor—”Andy began.  
  
“In Florence. Yes I know.” Miranda interrupted her.  
  
Andy gaped at her. “How did you— Emily. Of course. I should have known... What else did she tell you about my past?” Andy asked, now certain she did not care to know the answer.  
  
“Very little.” Miranda replied cryptically. A dragging silence, ensued. Andy watched Miranda. Miranda looked right back at her, her gaze unflinching.  
  
“Right then. Let’s get back to work. I’m sure you have appointments after this.”  
  
“My daughters have a recital later this evening but otherwise, no, I have no appointments as such Andrea.” Miranda replied, nevertheless sitting back down in the armchair, and attempted to turn her head back to where it had been when Andy had placed her.  
  
“Not quite.” Andy said, and moved forward to place her once more. Andy thought Miranda would object, but for some reason Andy didn’t fully understand, she allowed the touch. Andy guided her back to the position she needed it to be, her finger on Miranda’s jaw once more. She had soft skin, Andy noted absentmindedly. It must be all the products she used. It was no secret that Miranda was nearing 50 after all.  
  
Andy looked at Miranda’s face as she adjusted it ever so slightly, mapping out the lines of her face, the slight crease at the corner of her eyes, the angle of her nose in her mind. Creating a labyrinth for Andy to recreate and discover all at once.  
  
“There. Right there.” Andy murmured lost in her artist’s world.  
  
“What do you see when you draw me Andrea?” Miranda asked, her voice sounding far away, like an echo at the bottom of a well.  
  
“I see you—er, I mean, your outward appearance, of course.” Andrea said, pulling her hand away, satisfied with where Miranda was placed. ‘But that’s not what I’m looking for. I’m looking for the spark which shows your individuality. A piece of your outward appearance that can transmit your humanity to paper. For you, the spark I see is in your eyes.’ Andy thought, returning to her easel.  
  
“Hmph,” Miranda glanced at her, careful not to move, but her gaze was searching Andy’s face intently, as though the answer she was looking for was hidden there. “Few see that distinction.”  
  
Andy pressed her lips into a thin smile. She knew that only too well. Andy returned to her sketch and began to bring to life once more, the figure of Miranda Priestly.  
 

* * *

  
   
“It’s getting to be late.” Andy sighed, placing her pencil at the edge of her easel.  
  
“Yes and my daughters’ recital will no doubt last till even later,” Miranda stood from the armchair and followed Andy down the hall back to the entrance of the loft. She took her coat when Andrea offered it to her.  
  
They stood at the doorway, neither speaking yet both saying much with the looks they were giving each other.  
  
They were appraising each other, and neither one found the other lacking… yet.  
  
This session had gone well. There would be more. That had been settled. They did not dislike one another. Perhaps next time they would be able to maintain the semblance of a conversation.  
  
“Good night Miranda. Enjoy your daughters’ recital.” Andy said, breaking the silence first.  
  
“Good night.” Miranda replied absentmindedly, “Remember to set up another appointment with Emily sometime next week perhaps.”  
  
She opened the door without waiting for an answer and with only the determined clicking of her heels left behind her, she was gone.  
  
Andy shut the door and leaned her head against its cool wood surface.  
  
She took a long shuddering breath. She’d done it.  
  
She’d sketched a live subject for the first time in over two years now. She hadn’t had a panic attack, she hadn’t been overly stressed, and she’d even managed to keep her cool when Miranda had mentioned her daughters.  
  
She’d done it. Now, to do it all over again next week.  
  
Andy took another deep breath. She checked her watch. Exactly one hour and a half had passed and yet, it had felt much longer.  
  
She wondered briefly, if Miranda had felt the same way. Or if she had enjoyed their short interactions at all. It was unlikely.  
  
After all, based off Andy’s research, Miranda was known for her cold behavior towards anyone she considered non-essential or disposable in her life.  
  
Andy certainly fit into that category. She was just a painter. Just another peon Miranda could use to create the chessboard world around her. She sighed and decided a good cup of tea was in order.  
  
Henry would no doubt be home in a few hours, and then Andy would suffer through his pathetic attempt at feigned interest and answer his inane questions with even more inane answers. But if truth be told, for a moment there, when Andy had touched Miranda’s jaw to guide her into place, she felt a tingling sensation in her finger tips which she’d never felt before. A kind of warmth she couldn’t have anticipated or imagined.  
  
“What a strange and cold woman.” Andy murmured to herself as she headed to her kitchen to set the kettle on to boil.  
  
  
-To be continued-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/n: If you have the chance, drop me line!)


	3. Setting the stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy Sachs Goldman is a celebrated painter. She paints the rich and famous all around the world. Or, she did, until two years ago when she dropped off the grid entirely and became almost hermit-like. But now after her self-imposed exile, she is back in the public eye. Miranda Priestly has only a vague recollection of ever hearing about AS Goldman, but when she meets the woman in the flesh, her unexpected offer of a portrait surprises her into accepting. Will these two women find a balance between their two personalities and get along for the sake of the portrait? Or will Andy's past come back to haunt them and tear them apart irreparably?

  
“When we are born, we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.” ― William Shakespeare, King Lear  
  
  
The phone rang only once before Emily’s snooty voice said, “Miranda Priestly office.”  
  
“It’s Lily Weiss calling. I’m Andrea Sachs Goldman’s assistant. I want to set up another appointment for Miranda sometime this week. What time is she available?” Lily said into the phone. Andy who was sitting at the chair opposite to her, at Le Bernadin, had asked her to call to set it up seeing as they were both waiting for their food to arrive.  
  
“Alright, yes, 5pm not this Tuesday, but the next one? The 25th?” She looked at Andy questioningly. Andy nodded her approval to the proposed time. “Yes she has an opening. Alright, thank you. Have a nice evening.” Lily replied.  
  
Andy smirked, amused at her usually exuberant assistant’s temporary ‘politesse d’affair.’  
  
“So,” Lily shut her phone and turned back to Andy. “5pm next Tuesday.”  
  
“Hmm, yes, if she doesn’t have to cancel it and reschedule again.” Andy said trying to be objective while still managing to inject a certain amount of annoyance in her tone of voice.  
  
“So how was it?” Lily asked, leaning forward on her elbows. “Working with La Priestly I mean.”  
  
“It was…” Andy trailed off. Lily lifted her eyebrows, a question implied in the gesture.  
  
The appointment last week had been fine, yet the atmosphere had been filled with a strange kind of tension. It had unnerved Andy for a few days. She couldn’t get Miranda’s eyes out of her mind.  
  
“It was fine of course.” She replied instead of admitting what was on her mind.  
  
Lily was just an assistant, despite how nicely they got along. They had a strange kind of working relationship, in which Andy was clearly the Alpha. They would have lunch like this together, but it was usually to discuss business. Still, Andy appreciated Lily’s work for her. She was efficient at the gallery and helpful without being overbearing.  
  
“Plans for the opening this Friday are coming along smoothly I take it?” Andy asked.  
  
“Yes, everything is going according to schedule… for once.” Lily replied grinning. “Good.” Andy picked up her fork, “Oh and set up a fitting with the Cartier people, my wedding ring is a bit too loose. It’s been bothering me lately.”  
  
“Yes Andy.” Lily replied automatically.  
  
Andy suppressed another smirk. All her employees reacted to her with the same kind of immediate obedience. They’d learned that she was to be obeyed to with speedy precision or they would lose their job and receive no reference.  
  
She watched from the corner of her eye as Lily glanced at her nervously while picking away at her food.  
  
Good.  
  
Lily knew who was in charge and she also knew she owed Andy respect.  
  
Andy enjoyed the effect she had on people.  
  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
  
It was raining outside. Of course it was raining. Tonight of all nights.  
  
Pathetic fallacy seemed to follow Andy everywhere she went. Tonight weather had decided to be vaguely dramatic, just as the gallery’s opening night was no doubt sure to be.  
  
Tonight was after all, just a long performance by Andy and those she worked with. It was similar to what Andy imagined putting on a play must feel like.  
  
 _‘The scene is set, the actors know their lines and now all that’s left is for the public to arrive,’_ Andy mused, smirking slightly.  
  
The theme, “WHO ARE YOU?” was printed on the pamphlet that would be handed out at the entrance. The attendance of the event itself was by invitation and open to the very paying public. A few of the actual models Andy had had hired for the portraits would be attending, despite it having been two years since the portraits had been done. They had never been exposed before and were by definition, ‘new’.  
  
Andy looked about the room, pleased with the concepts her team had come up with. The gallery was a simple large rectangular room, separated in the middle a pane of glass, on which one side was a mirror and the other, a see through glass, like the kind seen in bad cop shows on late night TV.  
  
In between each of the paintings hung on the walls, were floor length mirrors.  
  
The walls themselves were painted wine red on the mirror side and navy blue on the see-through side.  
  
The paintings were particularly interesting because they were hidden behind velvet curtains that matched the color of the walls depending on the side they were on. The viewer had to pull on a cord to expose the painting. Once the cord was released the curtains fell back into place. It had been Andy’s idea to hide the paintings, yet leave the mirrors uncovered.  
  
Andy believed it was easier to look at other people and judge them, than it was harder to look at oneself with the same critical eye, hence the exposed mirrors and the hidden canvases, forcing the public too look at themselves and to work at seeing others.  
  
In the middle of each room, on a small round white pedestal was a model in a white full body spandex suit, with a sign on the pedestal, proclaiming: ‘Pose me’. The idea of the moveable models had been inspired by the central idea of choosing to be who we are as well as being shaped by those around us. It had been Lily’s idea.  
  
The girl was really getting good at being an artistic director in training, as well as her personal assistant, Andy thought as she walked slowly around the gallery.  
  
Andy felt the familiar tingle of anticipation in the bottom of her stomach, the trembling in her hands, the old sense of achievement she had achieved years ago through her art, before anything had happened. Tonight reminded her of when she had been young and naïve, willing to trust blindly in other people. It had been this kind of interactive, themed gallery, along with her father’s name, that had launched her into the world of the glitterati she now found herself in.  
  
Sometimes, she still felt like Alice in Wonderland, for all that she understood of how the people around behaved and their reason behind it.  
  
“Ok people, ten minutes till show time!” Andy heard Lily call loudly from somewhere behind her.  
  
She checked her watch. It was 7:50pm on the dot.  
  
Andy rolled her eyes and sighed quietly. She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on.  
  
Henry came up behind her, wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her temple. Andy tried not to flinch at the touch and failed miserably. If he noticed, he pretended not to.  
  
“Andy darling, I’m sure it will all be fine.” Henry said inanely. This was his halfhearted attempt at reassuring her. Andy had to stop herself from scoffing at him.  
  
His hand at her waist tightened in what she assumed was meant as a reassuring gesture but felt more like being pawed at by a bear. In the other hand he was holding a full glass of whiskey. The night had barely begun and he was already on his third glass, Andy noted acerbically.  
  
 _‘Please dear god don’t let him get too drunk and make a scene.’_ She thought, wishing she could have excluded alcohol from her gallery’s opening night entirely, although she was sure Henry would have kicked up a fuss if she had.  
  
“Really, Henry? I’m not at all convinced.” Andy retorted, a tinge of annoyance coloring her voice.  
  
She shrugged off his hand, and walked towards Lily to once again check that everything was well and that all the guests were well and truly coming tonight. This was her first gallery opening in over two years. Andy sighed again and bit her bottom lip. What she wouldn’t give to able to have a glass of bourbon right now to calm her nerves. It was out of the question of course.  
  
Andy suppressed yet another sigh.  
  
“Andy are you alright?” Lily asked concerned. Had she been talking to her? Andy hadn’t noticed.  
  
“What?” She blinked. “Oh. Yes, I’m fine.” Andy replied, not bothering to explain she had been miles away in her thoughts.  
  
Lily gave her a concerned look. Andy wanted to hate her for her concern, her pity, but she knew that it would be entirely unfair to Lily if she did. It didn’t stop Andy from wishing she could.  
  
 _‘Damn my stupid morals and humanitarian mind set,'_ Andy thought, with no small amount of irony. They really were inconvenient in this world of false pity and placating smiles.  
  
“D-did Emilio confirm or do I have to make do with Carina for the catering tonight?” Andy said trying to sidetrack Lily before she began asking boring questions.  
  
“Emilio confirmed at long last. He really should have known better than to make you wait so long on the confirmation.” Lily huffed, also annoyed at the pompous Italian man.  
  
“Hmph. Yes, well. Maybe next time I’ll look elsewhere for catering services.” Andy had learned long ago that Italians did things the way they thought was best regardless of anyone else.  
  
Andy’s phone vibrated in her clutch. She picked it up and looked at the caller id, but she didn’t recognize it. She decided it was best to answer it although few people knew her private number without having been given it by Andy herself.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Andrea Sachs Goldman?” An unmistakable British voice asked.  
  
“Yes that’s me—” she tried to say but she was cut off by the ever stressed out redhead.  
  
“Miranda Priestly would like to RSVP that she will be attending your opening night.”  
  
Andy lost her breath.  
  
She blinked twice and gapped at the phone in her hand. Lily looked at her strangely, obviously wondering who was on the phone.  
  
“She’s w-what?” Andy asked completely caught off guard.  
  
“She’s attending the gallery opening. She’ll arrive a bit later than most guests but she will be attending. The car should arrive at approximately, nine o’clock. Good evening.” Emily hung up on her.  
  
Andy blinked again trying to process the information.  
  
Miranda Priestly, fashion icon extraordinaire was attending her gallery’s opening night. For no apparent reason.  
  
“Andy? Andy who was that? Are you alright?” Andy vaguely heard Lily’s voice ask her.  
  
She shut off her phone and stared at it for a moment before answering with a much steady voice than she had expected, “Yes I’m fine Lily. Miranda Priestly’s assistant called to RSVP. She’ll be arriving at nine o’clock. Or rather, exactly fifteen minutes before nine.”  
  
“She’s what?! Miranda Priestly is coming? Here?! Oh my god!” Lily exclaimed. She was practically bouncing up and down with excitement rolling like waves off of her. “Andy that’s great news!”  
  
Andy was still reeling from the shock. When Henry had invited her, Andy had almost elbowed him in the ribs for his stupidity.  
  
Miranda Priestly was an extremely busy woman. Surely she wouldn’t want to take time out of her busy schedule to visit a re-emerging artist’s first gallery in New-York in years?  
  
Apparently, she did.  
  
Andy could have been bowled over with a feather.  
  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
  
  
Andy forced herself to smile pleasantly at each new guest that arrived at the gallery, even though she felt tight enough to snap at any moment. She was like a bow string pulled too tight. She could only hope to avoid whiplash.  
  
The low lights in the gallery, and the city jazz lounge music playing from the speakers gave the gallery an air of ‘mystère’, while using spot lights on the hidden canvases to allow for proper viewing of the art once the curtains were pulled back.  
  
Once again, Andy was dragged out of her musings by the voice of the newest bout of people come to greet her.  
  
“Andrea darling!” Andy managed to stop herself from cringing because of the way the woman said her name, putting emphasis on the AN-drea instead of the way a certain white haired fashion editor said it.  
  
“You look lovely.” Cooed Norma Schulmann gesturing widely at her golden metallic Gucci minidress*.  
  
“Thank you, so do you Mrs.Schulmann.” Andy replied, attempting to look pleased at the compliment.  
  
She glanced surreptitiously behind the shorter woman’s shoulder to see who was next to come greet her. Andy saw that Henry was talking to Nicholai Androkovitch and his wife Sybil, handling himself like the professional smooth-talker that he was. He didn’t have a glass of alcohol in his hand for once.  
  
 _‘Thank god for small favors,’_ Andy thought.  
  
“We’re so glad you’re back, dear,” Charles Schulmann said with a smarmy smile. “The gallery looks fascinating. I’m sure we’ll enjoy it immensely.” He patted her hand, then led his wife away to smooze at other rich people in the room. Andy decided to move towards the blue side of the mirror to watch but not be seen, as other guests entered the gallery. It would give her the opportunity to observe the guests arriving without being seen immediately.  
  
She called over a tuxedoed waiter and took a flute of non-alcoholic punch. She sipped at it, and was mesmerized for a moment by the way the light reflected on the ice cubes in the glass.  
  
She felt her hand twitch. She wanted to go home and paint. Yes, that sounded like an excellent idea. But Miranda Priestly was coming tonight. And if only for that reason, she shouldn’t leave. Andy huffed at the glass in her hand, annoyed, as though it was the glass’ fault she couldn’t have a drink and she couldn’t leave early.  
  
She checked the time again. 8:44pm. Miranda could arrive at any given moment.  
  
She watched the door as she walked around the room greeting people who had already made it to this side of the gallery.  
  
She took their empty compliments for what they were, empty. Nothing more and nothing less. It didn’t matter what they thought about her art.  
  
The only people whose criticism or praise Andy ever allowed to affect her, was that of the people she painted. It was their depiction on the canvas after all. They should get a say in how others would see them for years to come.  
  
A whispering current of surprise began on the red side of the room. Andy watched through the pane of glass as silent heads turned to whisper soundlessly to each other about the newest arrival.  
  
Miranda Priestly had just entered the room.  
  
She immediately and effectively captured the stage Andy had so carefully set. Some small part of the back corner of Andy’s brain told her this was her night and that this should bother her, but she quickly shoved that thought away.  
  
She saw Miranda’s sharp gaze search the room, drifting over the non-entities, searching. For whom? Surely it couldn’t be her. Andy decided she’d watched long enough.  
  
It was time to greet the guest of honor.  
  
-To be continued-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (* Andy's dress for those who are curious: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-2281493/Anne-Hathaway-slips-metallic-minidress-Costume-Designers-Guild-Awards-just-days-learns-Oscars-fate.html)


	4. Better To Burn Than Drown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy Sachs Goldman is a celebrated painter. She paints the rich and famous all around the world. Or, she did, until two years ago when she dropped off the grid entirely and became almost hermit-like. But now after her self-imposed exile, she is back in the public eye. Miranda Priestly has only a vague recollection of ever hearing about AS Goldman, but when she meets the woman in the flesh, her unexpected offer of a portrait surprises her into accepting. Will these two women find a balance between their two personalities and get along for the sake of the portrait? Or will Andy's past come back to haunt them and tear them apart irreparably?

  
“I find him in the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness and subtleties of certain colours.” ― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray  
  


Andy walked through the throng of people towards Miranda. The crowded space and dodging of people gave her a few moments to appraise Miranda’s appearance before actually having to speak to the woman.

Miranda wore an icy pale blue wrap around sheath combined with a white jacket draped over her shoulders, with white suede Manolo’s to complete the outfit. She wore blue topaz earbobs and a sharp looking silver omega watch on her left wrist.

Simplistic, up-to-the-moment chic and breathtakingly elegant. Of course.

Andy expected nothing less from the tyrant queen of fashion herself.

Andy had no clue when exactly, she had become so obsessed over Miranda’s wardrobe. All she knew at the moment was that Miranda was giving her that up and down look again and she hoped Miranda liked her outfit. God, at this rate, she’d become even vainer than Emily if she wasn’t careful.

Then she was standing in front of Miranda and conversation became mandatory once more.

She smiled a little too broadly and said, “Miranda, I’m glad you could make it. It was good of you to come.” Andy could have bit her tongue off for level of ‘boring conversationalist’ that comment had just stamped her as, right off the bat. Great. This conversation was starting well.

Miranda looked at her with a raised eyebrow. She gave Andy the infamous _'you can do better than that, surely'_ look. Oh boy.

She glanced over Miranda’s shoulder to see Emily sneering at her, enjoying her discomfort. _‘Hmph. Bitch.’_ Andy thought categorizing her officially as one of the people she didn’t like. The redhead had been rude to her one too many times.

“Andrea.” Miranda leaned in for an air-kiss. Andy felt Miranda’s cheeks brush her own, kissing the air beside her face and briefly wondered what Miranda’s mouth felt like. Was it as soft as the rest of her face had been when Andy had posed her? She dismissed her idle musings for later. For now, she had to focus on the woman in front of her.

Andy should have known she would actually come. Henry had invited her at the Benefit after all. Miranda was the type to want to check out the kind of work Andy did before truly committing to buying a portrait from her.

Miranda made a show of looking around the gallery, taking in the design, the hidden art, the mirrors and the dim lights. But Andy noticed Miranda was watching the people even more intently than the art. Already she was analyzing the mob that had decided to come see the show, making note of who the enemies where and who to talk to later as well as who to ignore.

“Interesting choice of theme. Self-reflection.” Miranda said seemingly out of nowhere. Andy nodded, even though she wasn't looking at her.

“I would have thought it a rather obvious theme, but the design of the gallery has a fresh take on it. All thanks to my design team. I’m just the painter after all.”

“I disagree.” Miranda said absently. She tugged at the curtains hiding the portrait of a young woman with her eyes down cast, staring at something the portrait didn’t include. The woman’s eyebrows were furrowed intently as she concentrated on the task at hand. “Few people can look themselves and the mirror and be happy with who they see.” Miranda murmured.

Andy wondered what Miranda saw when she looked in the mirror. She knew Miranda must be wondering the same thing about her. Andy doubted either of them would like to hear the answers to the unasked questions floating between them.

“Andy! There you are, I’ve been looking for you!” Lily called to her from a few feet away, “Mr. and Mrs. Ross are here. They wanted to speak to you about a portrait they want to buy and how much you want for it.”

“Ah. Business is calling.” Miranda said. “I won’t keep you.”

“Will you stay for a bit?” Andy asked. _‘Please let her say yes,’ Andy thought._ “I’d love to come back to discuss ideas for your portrait once you’ve got a clearer idea of what I can do.”

“Mmm. Yes. I think I’ll be here for a while yet.” Miranda replied, glancing around again, “Go Andrea. Your buyers are waiting.”

Andy nodded and let Lily lead her away.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Andy let Lily take her to Mr. and Mrs. Ross, who were standing near the painting they wanted to buy. Andy wondered which one had peeked their interest. It was always interesting to see which painting would be the first to be bought. Lily pulled back the curtains to expose the painting.

Andy stopped dead in her tracks.

What was _that_ portrait doing here? It shouldn’t be here. It couldn’t be here. It was supposed to be in the warehouse, hidden away, never to be seen again.

But here it was. Who had done this? Did they not have any idea what that portrait meant to Andy?

“What is that portrait doing here Lily?” Andy asked. She ground her teeth together to keep herself from yelling at the top of her lungs.

“G-Gisele found it in the back of the warehouse under some of the other portraits we brought out to show.” Lily said, “We—we thought it was fine, after you approved the final show book.” She cringed visibly with every word.

Andy couldn’t tear her eyes away from the infant’s face on the canvas.

Those all too familiar eyes, the sweet pink mouth, the shape of the button nose. _Oh God._

“So, how much are you asking for it Miss Sachs Goldman?” asked Mr. Ross. He smiled hesitantly.

Andy stared at him. She hadn’t heard what he’d said. Her chest was tight. She felt like there were a hundred people shoved into the small room instead of only two dozen or so.

Mr. and Mrs. Ross looked at Andy expectantly.

His previous question registered with her at last. “It—it’s not for s-sale.” Andy said.

It took all her strength not to start crying right then and there in the middle of the gallery.

She was shaking. Her chest felt tight, like there wasn’t enough air in the room. She clenched her hands into fists.

“Take it down Lily. _Take it down right this second._ ” Andy managed to growl.

Her eyes flashed with an emotion that was far beyond furious. She was seeing red.

_How dare they?_ How dare they put her through this again?

Andy very nearly punched the wall behind her. She wanted to. But there were people watching her. She wanted to feel her knuckles crack with impact, feel the searing pain and hear the satisfying crunch of flesh hitting brick.

Instead, she denied herself the satisfaction of inflicting pain and fled the room, headed towards the back alley.

She needed some air. She couldn’t breathe. She needed air. She needed to get away. Far away from the probing eyes of her husband and the false careening voices filled with ‘concern’ that just would not shut up.

She breathed in the sharp autumn air as she stepped outside into the night.

She slammed the door leading to the back alley behind her with all her might. She enjoyed the smashing, screeching, protest of the old metal door as it crashed brutally into its much abused frame.

She felt a bit dizzy. Her legs gave out and she sat on the step and focused on her breathing, deep and slow, trying to prevent the on-coming panic attack. She felt like a freight train had just crashed into her and she was trying breathe after the impact.

The single buzzing street light attempted to create some form of illumination without much success.

_‘Pathetic.’_ Andy thought, although whether she was thinking of the street light or of herself, she really couldn’t say.

She hoped no one would follow her. She couldn’t breathe with all those people looking at her, pitying her. She needed to breathe. Preferably alone.

There wasn’t enough air for two idiots in this tiny alley way. Andy was surely an idiot. It had been so long, so much time had gone by and still— that painting affected her deeply.

“Goddamnit.” She muttered, feeling the unwelcome tears prick her eyes. _“Goddamnit.”_ She said again louder.

“Fuck!” She swore furiously at no one.

She stood up. With no one to watch or hold her back, Andy slammed her fist into the brick wall of the alley, relishing the pain is caused her. Someone had to hurt, someone had to pay for what happened, so why not her? Why not make herself suffer?

Yes, that’s right, anger was good. She knew anger. She could use anger.

It was better than the darkness which threatened to drag her under at every opportunity. She let her hand drop to her side, savoring the ache in her finger, the sting reverberating through her fingertips. Yes. Pain. Anger. Good.

_‘Better to burn than drown.’_ Andy thought chewing her bottom lip, trying to stop the damned tears from falling.

She heard the door to the alley open.

“Andrea.” A soft, cool voice called from the doorway behind her.

“Go away.” Andy dared to snarl at the other woman without looking at her. If she looked at her, Andy knew she would crumble.

“Alright. I’ll see you on the 25th then.” Miranda began to walk back inside.

“N-no, wait! Please…I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” Andy said feeling even worse for having been short with someone who didn’t deserve it. Andy still couldn’t look at her. The alley really was horribly lit. If Andy hadn’t been standing in the light off the doorway, Miranda wouldn’t have been able to see her.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Andy asked. She dared to look up at Miranda, finally.

Miranda paused one hand on the door frame. She looked at Andy, with something that was suspiciously close to pity in her grey-blue eyes.

_‘Not that. Please not that. Not from you.’_ Andy thought, hoping against hope that she was wrong.

Miranda didn’t pity her. Miranda didn’t pity anyone. Right?

“That assistant of yours wanted to let you know that painting has been taken down.” Miranda said. “Your husband has claimed you have a migraine and that you will be heading home soon.” The unspoken words hung clearly in the air between them, _‘You should go with him, before people start talking too much.’_  
  
Why on in God’s name was Miranda being kind to her? Andy was truly at a loss.  
  
It just didn’t make sense.  
  
She barely knew the woman and yet—. “I, uh—thank you. Yes. I, I think I’ll do just that.” Andy said. She took deep steadying breaths, trying not to start crying again. She needed to hold it in, to not let anyone see her weakness.

She turned away from Miranda, expecting her to leave. If her father had taught her anything, it was that people in their world would always use that weakness to wound further. Like sharks smelling blood in the water they would swarm and devour a helpless creature at the first sign of pain. She took another deep steadying breath.

She rubbed her hands on her arms, trying to chase away the cold. Her metallic minidress was not meant for the cold autumn night.

She felt a cool hand touch her arm. Andy yelped softly, “Oh!”

She’d though Miranda had left already. Apparently she hadn’t. Andy shut her eyes and wished she would leave. She wanted to be alone.

But...Despite her longing to be left alone, the hand on her arm had a comforting quality to it, no matter how awkward or half-hearted the gesture itself was.  
  
Why was Miranda doing this? She had no motivation to do so. Maybe she should ask her— “Andy? Are you out here?” She heard her husbands’ voice call out from the doorway.

Oh God, please don’t let Henry come to find her, he was the last person she wanted to see.

Suddenly the hand was gone, Miranda’s footsteps could be heard going up the steps, and the light from the doorframe dimmed as the door was shut partially behind Miranda.

“No, she’s not here Henry. I thought the same, but it seems we were both wrong.” Andy heard Miranda reply from the other side of the door.

“Oh, alright. God, I hope nothing’s happened. Andy’s always been sensitive about that painting…I understand of course but it has been three years since our son passed away…That portrait was painted a week before he—” Henry choked up, unable to continue speaking.

Andy on the other hand wanted to choke him herself with her bare hands. He had no right to tell Miranda about their private affairs. No right at all to expose Andy like he had just done and make her so vulnerable to Miranda with that information.

“Henry,” Miranda said clearly placating, “Why don’t you go find that assistant of hers to see if she’s seen your wife?”

“Yes,” Henry sighed, “you’re right of course.” Andy heard his footsteps as he turned to leave. “Aren’t you coming?” 

“Yes in a moment.” Miranda said. She offered no further explanation.

“Alright. I’ll be sure to let you know when we find her.” Henry replied.

Andy heard Henry leave and she sighed quietly.

“He’s gone.” Miranda murmured to Andy who was still in the ally.

“Thank you.” Andy replied just as softly, not wanting to draw him back with the sound of voices.

There was a moment of silence between the two and Miranda came back to the other side of the door to look at Andy. The sounds of cars rushing by could be heard, their horns honking and the sounds of the city were the only noise that filled the air for a moment, as Miranda observed Andy standing there in the dark alley.

“Why did you do it?” Andy dared to ask, breaking the silence first.

“I owed you.” Miranda said, “I always repay those I owe.”

Andy stood staring at her for a moment longer before leaning back against the brick wall, expensive dress be damned. She covered her face with her hand and heaved a heavy, shuddering breath.

“Andrea,” Miranda murmured, frowning, “What did you do to your hand?”

“What?” Andy asked, then she looked at her knuckles and saw they were bruised and bloodied, “Oh. I— it’s nothing, really.”

Miranda quirked an eyebrow questioningly, demanding further explanation.

“I, I kind of punched the wall. I was angry. It was stupid. My hand it fine. Just a bit sore, is all.”

“Really, Andrea.” Miranda said dryly. “You should be more careful with your hands. You are an artist after all.”

“Yes, I know. I just—I painted that portrait, right before my son d—” Andy stopped midsentence.

She shouldn’t be explaining this or anything to a woman like Miranda. It was a shark eat shark world after all. Who’s to say Miranda wouldn’t use this information to hurt her? They barely knew each other. Andy had no reason to trust her with more than she already knew thanks to her idiot husband.

“It was nothing.” Andy continued. “I need to get back inside before Henry decides to call the police.”

“Mmm, yes, that would be a good idea.” Miranda replied. She was still watching Andy like a hawk might watch its prey. Andy went up the stairs and past Miranda without another word.

“I’ll see you on Tuesday, Andrea.” She heard Miranda call after her.

Andy didn’t look back.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Henry met Andy just as she was coming back into the gallery’s show room.  
  
"Andy! My God, are you alright?” Henry asked, all concerned frowns and caring hugs. Lily saw Henry embrace her and Andy noticed her face seemed to fall a little. Maybe Andy should apologize for her earlier antics. Then she saw the look Lily gave Andy. She was surprised to see how much venom was in the look.  
  
No. Andy would not apologize.

Henry released her and took her hand instead. “Let’s go home, shall we?” He asked.

“Yes.” Andy managed. “I’m exhausted. It feels like my head in splitting in two.” She said a bit more loudly.

She watched as people around them glanced at her surreptitiously. Good. The mob had heard her say she had a headache and now they would likely spread that as the reason she was leaving so early.

She saw a flash of white from the corner of her eye. She turned and saw Miranda walking around the gallery, taking in the paintings, the people, the design, observing everything around her.

Andy sighed and smiled at her weakly. Miranda tilted her head slightly, a question in her expression. It was as if she were saying, _‘I have no idea why you’re smiling at me.’_ Although of course, she knew it was Andy’s way of saying thank you.

Henry led her outside to the car waiting at the curb. Once settled in the car, Andy leaned on his shoulder and closed her eyes, trusting him to take them home.  
  
She really was exhausted, emotionally.  
  
“Take us home.” Henry said to the driver. The driver nodded once, and lifted the privacy screen.  
  
For a long while, she couldn't really say how long, she drifted, watching the lights of other cars flash by. She was exhausted, and drained, and sort of numb.  
  
Andy fell asleep before they arrived at the apartment. In the morning she would be glad of it. She didn’t want to talk about anything that had happened last night. Certainly not to him.  
  
Henry left for work before she woke up.  
  
Andy rolled over alone in bed and cried the tears she’d held in the night before.  
  
\- To be continued -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/n: Comments are always much appreciated. Let me know what you thought of this chapter. )


	5. Terribly Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy Sachs Goldman is a celebrated painter. She paints the rich and famous all around the world. Or, she did, until two years ago when she dropped off the grid entirely and became almost hermit-like. But now after her self-imposed exile, she is back in the public eye. Miranda Priestly has only a vague recollection of ever hearing about AS Goldman, but when she meets the woman in the flesh, her unexpected offer of a portrait surprises her into accepting. Will these two women find a balance between their two personalities and get along for the sake of the portrait? Or will Andy's past come back to haunt them and tear them apart irreparably?

 

“If you hear a voice within you say you cannot paint, then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced.” ― Vincent van Gogh

 

“Good afternoon Miranda,” Andy said. She took Miranda’s red and black fur coat and hung it in the closet.

Andy had always loved the feel of fur, and for the barest instant she enjoyed the feel of it in her hands.

“Hello Andrea.” Miranda replied. She appeared rather stiff and far more formal than the last time they had had a sitting.

There was an awkward silence. Both women eyed each other, wondering what the other would do about last Friday.

Andy hoped Miranda would let the subject lie after she apologized for her impromptu break down. She’d been stressing for the better part of the weekend about how Miranda would react to the incident. Andy led Miranda to the studio again, wasting no time, playing the gracious host once more.

As Miranda sat down in the chair, Andy said, “I’m sorry about last Friday, it was completely unprofessional of me to break down like that, I should have held it together. I’d understand perfectly if you’d rather stop—”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous Andrea.” Miranda pursed her lips, “Why would we do that?”

She said it as though Andy was being completely idiotic and she felt appropriately scolded.

Miranda didn’t waste time. If she decided to do something, she did it.

Andy should have realized that she was being silly. So what if Andy had an emotional breakdown? It shouldn’t affect their working relationship. Andy stared, her mouth hanging open, slightly. She closed her mouth and blinked at Miranda.

“Let’s begin shall we?” Miranda asked, annoyed.

“Oh sorry.” Andy moved forward to pose her, but just as her hand almost touched Miranda’s face, she froze for a split second, hesitating.

Miranda’s hand on her arm, in that dimly lit alley way flashed in her mind. Her hand had been so cool and soft. It had been almost as if Miranda cared that she was in pain. But that couldn’t possibly be true. Not Miranda. Surely not.

Would her skin be soft again?

Andy continued almost immediately but the split second pause had been obvious enough for Miranda to notice. If she had, Miranda was an expert at pretense. She didn’t even bat an eye.

As Andy posed Miranda once more, she let her fingers run up Miranda jaw a little slower than necessary. Miranda flinched a bit, but continued to allow the contact.

“Sorry.” Andy muttered again.

Andy tilted her head and moved a lock of her white hair from her forehead. This time Miranda did blink.

Then Andy’s hands moved to Miranda shoulders and lowered them slightly. Miranda’s blouse was cut to expose her shoulders. Andy’s hands touched bare skin.

She felt Miranda breathe in a bit too sharply. Andy glanced at her face worriedly. Had she done something wrong?

She removed her hands from Miranda’s shoulders quickly and instead posed her arms back to where they had been for the initial sketch. One hand on the arm of the chair, the other, on her lap.

When Andy looked back up to check the angle of the head again and met face to face with Miranda’s piercing gaze, a question clear in them. But what question that was, Andy couldn’t know.

Miranda looked away almost at once. If Andy had known to look for it, she might have seen the slight flush that had made Miranda turn her eyes away.

Andy pulled away and smiled awkwardly, before going back to her easel. And then, the tension in the room became unbearable. If only Andy had put some music on to fill the silence.

Andy decided to risk asking for it. For all she knew it might be a suicide mission and Miranda hated all kinds of music. But death would be marginally better than this suffocating silence.

“Would you mind if I put some background music on?” she asked, “I find it helps me focus.”

Miranda waved her hand permissively without looking at Andy. “Fine.”

“Alright, do you have a preference?”

This time Miranda looked at her without moving her head, conveying her best, _‘Would you stop blabbering and just do it already’_ glare.

Andy gulped. Yep. She should just go put the music on. Jeez. This was going to be an interesting session.

Priestly: 1, Sachs Goldman: 0

She decided to stick to something classic and put on a Debussy album, and started with her personal favorite, ‘Nocturne’.

Andy went back to her easel and began to sketch.

If Miranda hadn’t been statuesque to begin with, Andy might possibly have guessed she was enjoying the music.

She didn’t tell Andy to turn it off in any case.

Andy felt an unaccountably pleased at her good music choice. It was pure luck but she still felt pleased. At least she hadn’t put on Radiohead. Thank God for her momentary lapse into ‘Miranda awareness’.

Priestly: 1, Sachs Goldman: 1

 

* * *

 

Andy permitted herself a small smile as she glanced back and forth from Miranda to the newest sketch. This would be the final copy which she would use to begin the base of her canvas.

She could already picture what colors she would mix together for Miranda’s ‘stormy sky’ colored eyes.

Andy chuckled quietly, at her use of mixed comparisons. Miranda arched an eyebrow. Andy simply shook her head. For a moment Andy thought Miranda might push it, but Miranda looked back towards the window apparently deciding it wasn’t worth it.

Some days, Miranda’s eyes were like ice. Cold enough to burn you. Other days they had the warmth of a summer rain. It was hard to keep up with the weather in Miranda-land.

If Andy followed that logic, it must be the very beginning of spring, right before the flowers come out but the earth is still brown and dead in Andy-land.

She suppressed another smile. Miranda would start to think she really was off her rocker if she started smiling at nothing.

She checked the time and sighed. Where had the time flown to? It had already been 45 minutes.

Time to take a break. “Let’s take a break. Would like something to drink? Tea, water, coffee?”

“Tea.” She said simply. She wasn’t looking at Andy.

She stood up and Andy could tell she’d like to stretch but wouldn’t do it in front of her.

“Alright. I’ll make a pot of earl grey.” Andy said. Miranda hummed her approval.

* * *

 

Andy came back with two cups of earl grey and a pot just in case either of them wanted a re-fill.

She walked back into her studio and saw Miranda sitting, one of Andy’s sketch books in her lap. Miranda was going through page after page of Andy’s sketches, most them of Miranda, herself.

The book was full of her face, her eyes and her smile. Andy had spent hour after hour sketching her, studying her. It had been her escape from thinking too much this past weekend. She must have left it out on her desk.

What did Miranda think of them? She would probably never find out for certain if Miranda enjoyed her art work. But she had been the one to push for the portrait in the first place, although why she had done so in the first place Andy was almost sure she’d never know.

She was the queen of whims after all. What Miranda wanted, Miranda got.

Andy went to put the tray on the coffee table and took her own cup before sitting down on the settee across from Miranda. Miranda looked up at her, then back down at the book, with a look Andy surmised, was one of confusion. A highly un-common occurrence in Miranda’s spectrum of expressions.

“Andrea…” she began, not looking up from the drawings, “Why do you have so many sketches of me?”

Oh God. That was _the_ question she always dreaded answering. Andy had always had trouble explaining why she became so fixed on the people who would sit for a portrait. But even she had to admit, she was being unusually obsessive in Miranda’s case.

“Oh, w-well, um…” She stuttered.

Miranda arched a single eyebrow waiting for an answer.

“I, I fixate on certain people, not based on their looks most of the time, but on their personalities.”

“Excuse me?” Miranda asked, her eyebrows furrowing.

“I – I mean, uh, Henry does a better job of explaining it than I do. He says that I find the beauty in a person’s personality and try to show it in my paintings.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Didn’t I?” Andy asked. She knew she was avoiding it but hell— this was Miranda Priestly she was speaking too. Could anyone blame her for not wanting to explain what made her tic?

“No, you didn’t.” She said, her voice flat, unimpressed. Shit.

“Well. I mean, I saw you at the Benefit and I thought you were beautiful.” She said trying to sound matter-o-fact about it.

Miranda was searching her face, with something like disbelief in her eyes.

“I saw you coming down the stairs and you were just— beautiful.” Andy said faintly. Oh God. Please don’t let Miranda hate her. She didn’t want to cause this woman any more trouble.

Miranda said nothing. She continued to look at Andy with a puzzled expression. Was she angry? Andy couldn’t really tell. But she thought not.

Andy looked away nervously.

Miranda’s phone rang, breaking the silence and making both women jump a bit.

Miranda pulled her phone out of her purse and glanced at the caller ID.

“I have to take this.” Miranda said to Andy. She took the hint.

“Of course, I’ll just go outside for a bit.” Andy said, taking her tea cup with her.

She left the studio just as Miranda picked up the phone and said, “Hello? Stephen, what is it?”

Shut the door behind her. Andy sipped at her tea and waited to hear Miranda finish her call. The voices were hushed but Andy could tell Miranda sounded tense and annoyed. Oh dear. She hoped the phone call would spare her from having to elaborate further on exactly why and how she had fixated on Miranda.

It was strange for her to have to try and formulate words to explain her reasoning. Words seemed so inadequate. It was something she experienced, not something she could describe accurately. It was a feeling which was familiar to her, but not one she’d ever really dared to examine in great detail. A kind of warmth, longing and something which bored on affection. If someone had to try to find words to explain ‘the feeling’ those were the ones Andy would use.

Miranda’s voice sounded strained although she couldn’t make out many words. The voices got louder.

“Stephen I—” her voice cut off to listen to the voice on the other end of the phone.

“No!” she exclaimed, “You know I wanted to be ther—” Stephen said something to cut her off.

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous!” Andy heard Miranda say angrily.

Andy hoped everything was ok.

“Alright. Yes. Goodbye…I’ll see you tonight.”

There was a moment of silence. Andy thought it was probably a good time to knock.

She knocked twice.

“Miranda?” Andy called quietly.

Miranda said, “Yes, I’m finished. Let’s get back to work shall we?”

“Of course.” Andy murmured. Miranda’s eyes were slightly red. Her voice was a bit rougher than before she’d gotten the call. She was upset and trying not to show it.

Miranda sat down in the armchair again and tried to go back to exactly where she had been before, but it wasn’t quite right. Andy came forward and reached out to pose her again.

“Must you?” Miranda said, her voice showing her annoyance.

She felt vulnerable and didn’t feel like letting Andy anywhere near her, Andy could tell. She’d been there herself a few times. With Henry in particular.

“For the sake of the accuracy of the portrait, yes.” She wanted to tell Miranda she was sorry it made her uncomfortable but she didn’t think the other woman would take too kindly to her vulnerability being pointed out by Andy. Miranda huffed in annoyance and nodded her consent.

Andy reached up and tilted her head, being extra careful to not do anything unexpected or to move her with anything other than a gentle touch. Her fingers lingered on her jawline again.

Andy suppressed a sigh. The lines of Miranda’s face, her bone structure, the small lines at the corners of her eyes, the color of those eyes, the sadness and pain in them, they were all beautiful to Andy. A small part of her consciousness realized she’d never been so deeply affected by someone’s beauty before. Miranda was exceptional.

Miranda shut her eyes. Andy felt her shiver. Andy’s breath caught in her throat.

 _‘So beautiful. So incredibly beautiful.’_ Andy thought, frowning in concentration as she inched Miranda’s face back to the place where Andy always positioned her.

Then something Andy could never have anticipated happened.

A tear slipped down Miranda cheek, escaping like a traitor running from the source of the pain inside Miranda.

Andy let her thumb catch it and brush it away.

Miranda tensed and her eyes shot open to look at her. The shock in her expression was clear as day. And the pain in her eyes made stole Andy’s breathe away.

 _That._ That right there was the spark. The one thing that made her so terribly beautiful.

_Her pain._

It had shaped her, created her, and defined her. It was the most deeply ingrained, secret part of her. Miranda lived on hope. That was clear to Andy now. She lived on the hope that, one day, there would be someone who wouldn’t hurt her. Someone who wouldn’t disappoint her. Because everyone did eventually. They all hurt her in one way or another. Either by accident or on purpose. More often than not it was on purpose.

Miranda blinked and tried to compose herself. Her eyes were wet but she wasn’t crying. Not yet. She was forcing herself not to.

Her husband must have said something to upset her. Andy wished for one insane moment she could comfort her. She knew it was impossible, that Miranda would never accept it, but still she wanted to offer it to her. She wanted to hug her and make foolish promises. That she would make it all better, that she could stop the pain…But that would be a lie. Here, now, looking into her face, she felt a fierce ache in her chest.

 _“Oh Miranda.”_ She breathed.

“Don’t. Please…I—” Miranda pleaded, holding back more traitorous tears. She couldn’t handle it if Andy offered. She couldn’t accept it.

Andy knew that. But still she wished that she would let the walls fall for a short while and allow someone anyone to be there for her. But Miranda couldn’t bear it.

That would require her to trust. And Miranda trusted no one.

It was simple really.

Andy wasn’t allowed close and Miranda wasn’t going to let her get that close in any case.

So instead, after a long moment, Andy pulled her hand away from Miranda’s face.

More silence ensued, broken only by the soft music in the background, but neither woman looked away from each other. Not this time. They couldn’t pretend that nothing was different this time.

“Was that Stephen? On the phone?” Andy finally asked, needing to change the subject, anything to end the tension which was quickly becoming unbearable. Saying something inane often had its uses despite how much Andy hated to admit it.

“Yes.” She managed to say. Her voice still had a rough quality to it, showing that she was suppressing her emotions.

That bastard. Andy wanted to yell at him, even though she’d only met him once. He’d upset Miranda. That made him a bastard in Andy’s book.

“Miranda I—” Andy began but she didn’t really know what there was to say.

Miranda looked at the Swarovski watch on her right hand wrist. They still had 15 minutes left.

Andy went back to sit at her easel. Proper position be damned.

Miranda went back to sitting approximately where Andy had placed her.

Her posture was tense and she looked almost like she had that first day. Like she didn’t want to be here. As if she would like nothing better than too run from the room.

“Miranda, why did you accept my offer?” Andy dared to ask. She’d wanted to know for a while and now seemed like the only opportunity she’d get.

Miranda looked at her sharply.

“Out of politeness? That doesn’t seem very much like something you would do, so, out of a sense of curiosity?” She continued to push the subject.

“What does it matter ‘why’ I’m here? I’m paying you aren’t I?” Miranda retorted.

Oh dear, she was resorting to anger to hide her vulnerability. Usually a well-placed comment like that would have shut Andy up, but not this time. She was like a dog with a bone when she got something stuck in her mind, she was determined to get an answer out of this enigmatic woman.

“Technically not yet, no.” Andy said, trying to keep her voice steady, “And it matters to me. I’m not going to sit here for the next few months panting someone who doesn’t want to be here.”

There was a short silence.

“Fair enough, I suppose.” She replied, appearing sardonically amused by Andy’s gal. The tears were gone now, hidden away behind the walls of ice once more.

Andy waited for a reply to her questions. A few moments later, she got one.

“Why did you offer to paint me?” she asked instead of answering.

Andy gaped at her. “I—well, isn’t obvious?” she asked. “You, you’re like no one else I’ve ever seen before.” Miranda raised her eyebrows. Andy felt like she’d just taken her foot and shoved it in her mouth. No, actually that would have been better than what she’d just done.

“‘Like no one you’ve ever seen before’ what are you—?” Miranda began to ask, her tone bordering dangerously on irate.

“I’m sorry,” Andy backtracked, “It’s just— well it’s true. There’s just something about you that draws the eye. A natural form of beauty, that can’t be cultivated or recreated, it just is.” Andy wondered if she shouldn’t just shut up now, as she watched the look of surprise spread across Miranda’s face. She really was horrible at explaining her fixation. “And your eyes…they’re---I don’t know, they-- they're captivating. It’s what made me want to paint you in the first place.” Andy wished she’d remained silent instead of having elaborated exactly what she should have kept to herself.

Moments of sharp silence slipped by them, like a knife cutting through butter.

“Oh. Well— I, um…” Miranda paused and touched her nape nervously looking anywhere but Andy’s face. For once it seemed that she was at a loss for words.

“You’re welcome.” Andy said, trying not to let her relief show on her face too much.

Miranda opened her mouth as if to say something, and then closed it and simply nodded.

Andy heard the front door open and close loudly. Henry was home a bit early. Damn. Andy couldn’t suppress a wince. Miranda looked at her knowingly. In this they were alike. Their husbands were far from being what either of them truly needed.

“Honey? Andy? Are you home?” Andy shot an apologetic look at Miranda.

She quickly stepped out into the hall and called, “Yes, Henry I’m in the studio with Miranda. We’ll be done in a few minutes.”

“Oh, ok. Say hello to Miranda for me.” Andy smiled at him, placating him, before turning around and heading right back into the studio before he got any ideas of kiss her or hugging her or god forbid touching her barely existent baby bump.

She rolled her eyes and muttered. “God. Ugh.” Under her breathe. Right, as if Miranda couldn’t hear his loud voice from the studio.

She shut the door again behind her. She was tempted to lock it in case he decided to say hi personally. She didn’t, but only because Miranda was watching her like a hawk.

“Sorry about that. Shall we continue?” “No. It’s time I head home.”

Andy looked at her watch. Damn. She was right. Their time was up. She’d barely drawn anything.

“I’ll set up an appointment for next week then.” Andy said.

“That won’t be possible.” Miranda said as she stood up.

“I’m sorry, what?” Had Andy scared her off? Was she deciding she didn’t want to go through with the portrait after all? Oh please no. Not that.

“Miranda I—” she tried to say. She had to convince her, to change her mind. She had to.

“It’s Paris fashion week. I’ll be out of town. The week after that will be fine.”

“Oh.” _‘Oh thank god.’_ She thought.

“The next week then.” Andy let out the breathe she hadn’t realized she’d been holding out, relieved.

“Mmm. Yes.” Miranda replied. She seemed absent minded. Andy knew she must be lost in thought. Today had given both of them a lot to think about.

“I’ll walk you out then.” Andy let Miranda out to the door and turned to hand her, her coat. Instead of taking it from her Miranda simply slipped one arm into the sleeve and Andy was obliged to help her put on her coat. Andy’s fingers accidentally brushed her nape and Andy felt her tense slightly.

Andy gritted her teeth, but was unable to stop her own sharp intake of breath. Miranda paused for the barest instant before continuing. She turned around to face Andy once.

“Till the week after next, Andrea.” Miranda managed before turning around and rushing down the hallway without even waiting for Andy’s reply. She shut the door after having heard the last audible click of Miranda’s heels echo down the hallway.

“See you in two weeks.” Andy murmured to the shut door in front of her.

 _‘She never did ask about the opening night,’_ Andy mused. But then again, Andy could tell that Miranda really wasn’t the kind of woman to ever intrude on another person’s personal life. She stood there frowning at the door for a moment longer, wondering what the hell had just happened between them.

She tried to formulate it clearly in her mind. She had been, _attracted,_ to Miranda.

That thought alone was shocking to Andy. As far as she knew, she’d never been attracted to a woman before.

But what was more shocking still, was that, although Andy could never have imagined it, Miranda seemed to be…for lack of a better word, _reacting…_ to her as well.

Dear God. If this was true, and Andy wasn’t entirely sure yet that she was right, what did it mean for both of them?

She had no idea.

“Andy? Honey?” Henry called from the living room. “Are you finished yet?”

Andy realized she needed to go and see Henry, to smile as though nothing was different and act as though her understanding of herself hadn’t just done a spin on its axis. It was unfathomable to her that it should be necessary to behave normally after such a day.

“Y-yes, Miranda just left.” She called back.

Henry’s heavy footsteps came down the hall towards her. He turned around the corner and she saw he had a glass of whiskey in his hand. They hadn’t even had supper yet and he was in the drink.

He came forward and kissed her cheek. His breath smelled of whiskey and the cigarettes he refused to give up no matter how much Andy pleaded with him. His hand touched the barely there bump in her stomach. Andy’s lips where pressed into a thin line. He was trying be supportive and affectionate but to Andy it just came off as clingy.

How long had she been repulsed by her husband’s touch? Hadn’t it taken her a long while to become interested in men as a teenager? Hadn’t she pushed her boyfriends away when they’d asked for sex? Hadn’t she been….indifferent to their attentions? She’d always rationalized that she’d just never had the courage to tell them what she wanted but…now she was unsure. What if it had been more? She was 28 years old for Christ sake! How had she not noticed anything?

“Earth to Andy?” Henry asked. Oups. She’d been lost in thought. She couldn’t allow herself that luxury at the moment.

“Yes. I’m fine. Let's go see what Marina has made for super.” She said. She couldn’t look him in the eye. She disentangled herself from him, heading towards the kitchen. He was close on her heels.

She had to be more careful not to slip up. She had to be Andy Sachs Goldman, wife of the current chairman of the American multinational investment banking firm Sachs Goldman and Co, eccentric painter and daughter of the late CEO. The tragedy stricken wife and husband with no children, but it wasn’t Henry’s fault, it was hers, the wife’s. Of course.

 _‘The one who’d fallen apart two years ago after the loss of their son due to SIDS. Such a tragedy. Poor thing._ ’ That was what Andy knew people thought of her.

That was who she was. The one who had lost it. But what ‘it’ was, very people could ever understand. When people said she’d ‘lost it’ they meant in the sense that she’d gone a bit off her rocker. And it was true she had…but it hadn’t been her mind that she’d lost.

 _‘Ethan.’_ She thought the name she always avoided thinking. So much pain was attached to it. A wave of sadness over took her for an instant.

One thing had been taken away. Just one thing. And her world had come apart like a house of card falling down around her.

She shut her eyes briefly as their chef, Marina, set out plates of some kind of high folic acid and walnut salad for her and a fish steak for Henry. With another glass of whiskey. Of course.

“Honey are you alright?” Henry asked, looking at her worriedly. Andy tried to smile but she was sure it looked stiff.

“I’m fine. How was your day? Did that meeting with John work out as you’d hoped?”

“Even better,” He said. And with that meager amount of coaxing, Henry launched into a description of the events at the office.

Andy knew she should probably feel at least a bit guilty for diverting him so easily but she really couldn’t quite bring herself to care so long as he didn’t bother her with questions she couldn’t answer yet. As he spoke, she ‘hmm’d’ and ‘ah’d’ at the right places and smiled and nodded barely listening as she ate.

“So, how was your day, ‘at the office’ so to speak?” he asked with a smug smile. He was on his third glass of whiskey.

“It was fine.” She couldn't look him in the eye.

“That bad huh?” Henry said. He smirked. What the hell did that mean? He barely knew Miranda but he was assuming she’d been unpleasant and that was why Andy was quiet?

“It was good actually.” Andy replied, trying not to get angry at him for such an assumption.

Henry looked at her skeptically.

“I’ve got to keep working on the sketch, actually.”

"Andy I--" he tried to say.

She didn't wait t hear what he had to say.

She stood, put her plate in the sink and headed down the hall to her studio.

Henry wouldn’t follow her. She knew. He didn’t really care enough to come see if she really was alright. She shut the door behind her, and leaned against it. She tried to breathe slowly.

She took one deep breath after the other. Her hand wound unconsciously to her middle. She had to stay calm. For the baby's sake.

She went to sit in the armchair where Miranda had sat earlier. Andy remembered the feel of her soft skin, the emotions flashing in her eyes, her pain. Her spark.

Andy went and picked up a sketch pad and began to draw immediately. She drew for a good two hours straight.

When she was done, she looked at her work. It was a portrait of Miranda, looking at her from under her lashes with unmistakable lust in her eyes.

 _‘Oh God.’_ Andy thought. _‘Miranda Priestly, what have you done to me?’_

 

-TBC-


	6. Beneath What You See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy Sachs Goldman is a celebrated painter. She paints the rich and famous all around the world. Or, she did, until two years ago when she dropped off the grid entirely and became almost hermit-like. But now after her self-imposed exile, she is back in the public eye. Miranda Priestly has only a vague recollection of ever hearing about AS Goldman, but when she meets the woman in the flesh, her unexpected offer of a portrait surprises her into accepting. Will these two women find a balance between their two personalities and get along for the sake of the portrait? Or will Andy's past come back to haunt them and tear them apart irreparably?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/n: Hello dear readers, please do forgive the wait. Exam period is murderous for students. This chapter is twice as long as a normal length chapter. Enjoy and please R&R. It helps me to write more.)

 

“Beneath it is all dark, it is all spreading, it is unfathomably deep; but now and again we rise to the surface and that is what you see us by.” ― Virginia Woolf, _To the Lighthouse_

 

It was a gloriously sunny morning in New York.

 _‘Almost like a watercolour painting,’_ Andy mused. Everything seemed so full of promise.

Andy had spent the morning out, buying new brushes and a few fresh canvas’ to do a sample of the portrait for Miranda before she came back from Paris Fashion week. She loved to go to SoHo Art Materials, on Gardner Avenue.

She loved the artistic crowd that came and went from the store as she shopped. She loved the bustle and intent in the eyes of the artists as they selected their work mediums and tools with care. But most of all she loved the smell of untouched sketch pad paper, of unopened paint tubes and the clean woody smell of the unused pencils and brushes. It was such a familiar, comforting scent.

She imagined this must be similar to what book lovers obsessed about ‘old book smell’. But instead this was ‘fresh art supplies smell.’ She chuckled to herself. Andy knew she was a little eccentric.

Still, there was something very comforting in the knowledge that she could sit down in front of a blank canvas and pick up a clean bush and paint for hours, escaping from the fast moving world around her. Despite having gotten very little sleep last night, she felt awake, and alive as she exited her town car, thanked her driver and went into her apartment.

Andy actually found herself whistling as she opened the door to her apartment. Henry was at work so she should be home alone for the day, apart from the chef who would come to make her lunch and remind her to eat at about 2 o’clock.

Andy headed for the studio, loot in hand, and set everything down on the settee. She went to search for her sketch pad on her desk among the piles of other sketches, but couldn’t find it. Then she remembered she’d brought it to bed last night so she could draw before going to sleep. She went to get it.

As she put a hand on the doorknob to her bedroom she thought she heard Henry’s voice making strange noses. But that couldn’t be right. Henry wasn’t supposed to be home till 9 o’clock tonight. What on earth—

She turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.

“Henry are you alri—” the question lodged in her throat. The covers were moving up and down. She saw a flash of bare skin and let out a yelp.

There were two people in bed having sex. One of them was her husband.

Henry jumped apart from the other person on the bed whom she soon recognized.

“Lily?” She exclaimed. How dare she? _That little bitch—_

“Andy I can explain.” Henry tried to say.

No. She didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want his explanations.

“How could you? With the baby on the way—” she asked, utterly distraught. She stared at him her mouth slightly open. She couldn’t believe he had done this to them.

“She’s home today? And you didn’t tell me?” Lily gasped at Henry. Henry looked between the two women, completely helpless.

Andy glared at Lily like she wanted to melt the skin off her face.

 _“Get out.”_ She growled at Lily.

“What, but, I—” she spluttered.

“Get out. Get out _now_ or so help me God I will make sure you never work in the art industry again.” Andy said. Her voice was flat. She felt as though all the emotion she’d had in her had been drained, looking at her cowering husband’s face.

Lily grabbed her clothes and ran out of the room.

“Andy please I—” he tried to plead. Oh no. None of that. He didn’t deserve to speak, or explain, or try to justify himself. Not with this.

“Shut. Up.” Andy enunciated the words clearly.

He shut his mouth. Henry gulped.

“I don’t want to hear it Henry. We are through. It’s over… I should have seen this coming.” Andy frowned, not looking at him.

He was the father of her child. How could her do this to her? To the baby?

Andy shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She was trying not to cry. She’d be damned if she let him see her cry.

“I— I’ll leave then. I’m going to pack some bags.” Henry said. “I’ll come back to pick the rest of my things in a few days.”

Andy simply nodded. She felt like something inside of her had been scorched away by this betrayal. The last bit of naivety she’d clung on to blindly, hoping this time that her innocent belief in one single person wouldn’t cause her regret…was gone.

Andy wanted to rage. She wanted to give in to the anger burning through her as she watched Henry quickly pack an overnight bag. He grabbed his wallet and keys.

He paused at the bedroom door. Andy’s hands were shaking.

“Andy I’m— I’m sorry.”

 _‘No you’re not.’_ She spat at him in her mind but she kept her mouth shut tightly instead. _‘If you were sorry, if you cared even a bit about me or this baby you would never have done this.’_

She just shook her head soundlessly. He could tell she was upset by her expression, she was sure.

“I’ll set up a meeting with our lawyers.” He said.

Yes that would be for the best. They would only talk through them from now on. Andy could tell.

“Goodbye Andy.” He shut the door behind him and she heard it click with a sound of finality. She looked at the shut door furiously. And then she let a sob pass through her lips. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Damn it Henry. Damn you.” Andy muttered furiously to no one.

She wanted to scream but she knew that would be pointless. And bad for the baby. She pressed her palm to her stomach. She ground her teeth together and shut her eyes against the tears she couldn’t hold back.

She swiped at the few tears that had managed to escape.

 _‘Damn it.’_ She swore in her mind. She had to stay calm. She took a deep breath and then another.

She stood up and went back to the studio. She sat in the arm chair opposite to the one Miranda posed in for the portrait. It had been 6 days since she’d sat there last. Miranda was coming back tomorrow. It was part of the reason Andy had been in such a good mood today. Now all the happiness she’d felt earlier had evaporated.

She should have known. It was so obvious looking back. She’d have to call her lawyer.

She decided to do it later. Right now, she needed to paint. She needed to escape.

She went to her shopping bags of new materials and carefully selected her painting tools.

She picked up a brush and began blending color after color. She knew she couldn’t possibly get the eyes the right color without her model here, but she could work on other beginnings.

Andy worked tirelessly. She stained her clothes and she was sure her face had a few streaks of paint in it too.

Whatever. That didn’t matter. Not right now.

All that mattered right now was the shape of Miranda’s shoulder. And then the angles in her chin. And the curves in her mouth. They were all that mattered. All that kept her tethered to the here and now.

She couldn’t allow herself to fall back into the depression she’d allowed to have control over her life for the past two years. She was done wallowing in self-pity. There were more important things to think about. Like how many eyelashes Miranda had.

Yes. She was focused on something that wasn’t painful. That was good. She fell into her artist’s world like a welcome warm bath soothing all the aches in her.

She worked for hours, not noticing till the light from the sky was no longer bright enough to allow her to continue to paint. And then she simply turned the light and continued to paint till her hand began to cramp.

She finally put down her brush. Miranda’s face looked back at her from the canvas with the same look of ‘almost-but-not-quite-pity’ she’d given Andy at the Gallery opening night.

“Please, not that. Not from you.” She murmured to the painting, just as she had thought the night she’d seen this look before. She couldn’t bear to look at the painting anymore.

Andy dropped her brush on the floor not caring that it spattered paint on the floor.

She went to the master bedroom again and tore off her clothes. She dropped them on the carpet. Andy couldn’t care less if the paint stained her clothes or the floor.

She headed into the en-suite bathroom and turned on the shower. She stepped in to the water flow without waiting for it to heat up. Andy hissed quietly as the cold water his her skin. She yanked the knob in the other direction to make it warmer.

It slowly warmed up. Eventually the water became so warm Andy was sure her skin would be red when she got out. But she needed to scrub everything off. The paint, her tears, her lingering pain. She couldn’t have a drink. This was the next best alternative. This vague sense of pain that wasn’t pain.

Andy scrubbed at her skin till it was raw and red. She finally felt clean. Then, all her energy left her and she let herself lean against the shower tiles and slid down the wall of the shower till she was sitting on the floor.

The stream of water pounded her legs and the tile behind her was cold. She let her head rest on her knees and at last she let herself cry a few tears. Not too many. Just a few. She couldn’t allow any more than that.

At last when the water turned cold again she stepped out of the stream. She grabbed a towel and dried off quickly.

Then she went into the bedroom and realized she felt like burning the bed. Or throwing up. Or a combination of both. But she did neither.

She got into a pair of roomy pj’s. Then Andy grabbed a spare comforter from the closet and a pillow and went back to the studio and crawled onto the settee, infinitely glad she’d gotten such a big size.

She closed her eyes, and tried to sleep. Instead she tossed and turned and fell in and out of consciousness. She woke up twice during the night.

Miranda. She was coming back tomorrow…Andy’d made sure to book an appointment with Emily for the day Miranda returned because according the redhead she took a week off from any work related situations after fashion week whenever possible.

Emily had yet to confirm the appointment with her, but Andy hoped Miranda would accept to see her for an hour before taking her time off officially. Or maybe she’d think of the painting session as non-work related enough to validate coming anyways. Andy hoped she would still get to see Miranda at least once this week.

The last thing she remembered thinking before falling asleep till morning was, _‘At least Miranda will be back tomorrow.’_

 

* * *

 

 

Andy woke up to her phone ringing on the coffee table beside her. She reached out and answered thoughtlessly.

“Hello?” she said, her voice still filled with the roughness of sleep.

“Good morning Andrea. I’ll be available at 3:30pm today for an hour and a half. Will that be sufficient?” Miranda’s cool voice said from the phone at her ear.

Andy gasped and all at once sat up as though Miranda were in the room with her.

“M-Miranda, you’re back in town.” Andy heard her huff irritably and could almost see her roll her eyes at Andy’s still half asleep babble. “Yes, yes, 3:30pm sounds perfect.”

“I’ll see you then.” Miranda hung up without waiting for her reply. Andy blinked hard, and rubbed at her eyes. She huffed and willed herself to be more awake.

She looked at her phone to check the time; high noon. Wow, she really had managed sleep for a long time. But to be fair she hadn’t slept well at all. She’d have to make sure to call the maid service and get them to clean the bedroom sometime today.

She should definitely be sleeping in a bed. This settee couldn’t be good for her back. Or come to think of it her neck. Or the baby for that matter. She touched her hand to the bump that had become a bit more visible lately. Andy marveled at the little being whose existence was only made known by this bump and a few tests.

She sighed and murmured, “Good morning baby.” The books she’d read had said that the baby would be able to hear her now. She was at almost 17 weeks after all.

It was very strange for Andy to be going through this a second time. The first time she’d been ecstatic. This time, she felt…terrified. She pressed her hand on her baby bump again to reassure herself the baby was really there.

Then she felt a kick.

“Oh!” she gasped and her eyes widened. The baby had kicked. She looked at her stomach in awe. This might be her second time but she certainly was still in awe of that sensation. It was about time for it to happen. It was a relief. This was the first time she’d felt the baby kick.

“Oh, wow.” Andy sighed. “You’re awake huh? Are you hungry kiddo?” She asked. The baby kicked again and Andy gasped again. Andy wasn’t sure if she could call the movement she felt a kick or not. It felt more like butterflies in her stomach. Andy wondered if the baby liked the sound of her voice.

She smiled to herself. It was a familiar motherly smile that she hadn’t felt creep up on her in a very long time. Although officially only two years had passed, this was currently the third year since Ethan had died. The smile fell from her face immediately upon thinking of _him._ The child she had lost. A sharp ache formed in her chest and she fought back tears.

 _‘Not this time. Not again. I won’t lose this one.’_ She thought to herself fiercely. _‘I can’t.’_

She checked when her next appointment with her doctor would be on her phone’s calendar. This Friday. Alright. She could deal with it. She’d gone alone last time and she’d do it again.

She took a deep breathe. She needed to get ready for Miranda’s session. The studio needed to be cleaned up a bit at least and she needed to get dressed and she certainly needed to eat and take her vitamins. And tea sounded like a very good idea.

She looked at the partially finished water color portrait on the canvas and at Miranda’s expression in the picture. She quickly grabbed one of her spare tarps and threw it over the painting.

Miranda certainly didn’t need to see that painting.

 

* * *

 

She’d cleaned up the studio, and had called the maid to pack everything in the bedroom up. Andy thought she’d best get the maid to wear plastic gloves and put the sheets in an air tight container. She knew this would be important for the divorce argument.

Andy’s old instincts had kicked in and she’d become her father’s daughter as she had planned her next moves out. She knew Henry would probably just cave in and allow her the divorce. But…it never hurt to be prepared.

Three fifteen eventually came around on the clock in the kitchen and Andy was just finishing her first cup of non-caffeinated buckwheat tea. She hummed in satisfaction. Then the doorbell rang and Andy got up and went to open the door.

“Hello Miranda. How was your trip?” Andy asked. Her voice was steady and she tried to sound normal. What would Miranda care whether or not she and Henry were getting a divorce? Or that the baby had kicked for the first time today? No, she probably wouldn’t care at all. Andy took a deep breath, quietly and sighed imperceptibly.

“Tiring.” Miranda replied without a moment’s pause. She turned around and Andy obediently helped her out of her coat, careful this time not to touch her neck or any part of her.

It wouldn’t do. Not now. Andy needed to be focused. Miranda’s presence alone was certainly unsettling enough without remembering how much Andy enjoyed the softness of Miranda’s skin. Or that she was questioning her sexuality because of the woman standing in front of her.

“Oh really?” Andy said trying not to blush just thinking about this woman’s skin against the fur of the coat she was hanging up. “Was it terribly busy?” Andy asked as she placed one shoulder of Miranda’s grey fur coat on the hanger. She thought it might be rabbit fur or maybe some kind of small furry rodent type animal. The fur was luxuriously soft. It was an Alexander Wang creation, Andy noted.

“I’m not surprised you don’t know. Fashion doesn’t really interest you after all.” Andy opened her mouth to protest that the company invested in many industries including Fashion, but Miranda continued, “Fall fashion week is the busiest time of the year for the fashion industry.” Miranda replied.

“Oh, well. You must be tired.” Andy nearly bit her tongue at her own inability to keep such personal comments out of their conversation.

Miranda looked her up and down and nodded once, before continuing. She liked Andy’s outfit. A simple Zac Posen black suit pan and a DKNY cerulean wrap around cowl neck sweater. The sweater stretched and was very comfortable. Andy supposed she’d have to get Lily to—no. Not Lily. Never again would Lily work for her. She’d have to hire a personal shopper to buy bigger maternity clothes soon.

“When did you get back?” she asked to cover up her slip.

“At some obscenely late hour last night.” Miranda said, looking anywhere but her face. So they were back to this were they? Not looking at each other. Right. Nothing had ‘happened’ last time. Nothing would ‘happen’ this time.

“Mmm.” She almost added, ‘That’s never fun,’ but thought better of it. Miranda would most certainly not appreciate the sentiment.

Andy said, “Would you like a cup of tea before we begin?”

“What kind are you making?” Miranda asked. She followed Andy down the entrance corridor.

“Buckwheat.” Andy replied as she walked towards the kitchen.

“Yes, I’ll have a cup. The girls enjoy it. No caffeine in it I suppose?”

“No, no caffeine. Decaf is always best for—”

“For pregnant women.” Miranda interrupted her. “Yes I know. I do have twin girls in case you’d forgotten.”

“Of course not.” Andy said, “Although I’ve never met them.”

Miranda hmph’d. “No you haven’t. You’ve never had the occasion too.”

“How old are they now?” Andy dared to ask. Miranda was notoriously private and even more so when it came to her children. Andy wondered if she hadn’t crossed some invisible line when Miranda looked at her oddly. As though she were evaluating Andy’s level of sincerity in asking after her children.

“Cassidy and Caroline are turning ten in December.” She replied after a moment’s pause. Apparently she judged that Andy was sincere enough to warrant an answer

Andy handed Miranda a mug of the tea. Miranda sniffed it inconspicuously. Andy suppressed a smirk. Her girls liked it, but Andy would bet her favorite louboutin's that she’d never actually tried it. She pressed her lips together trying not to smile at her.

Miranda took a sip. Then she sighed almost imperceptibly. She liked it. Good. This time Andy couldn’t hold back a smile. She turned quickly and took her cup and led Miranda to the studio. She doubted Miranda had noticed her smiling.

But maybe she had because Miranda seemed to be holding back a smirk of her own, when Andy saw her take a seat in her usual chair.

She noticed Miranda was once again wearing a different outfit today. Five inch white Manolo Blahnik stilettos. No surprise there. A pink, intricate, lace covered v neck sheath that cut just above the knee, paired with a light cashmere cardigan in taupe. The cardigan tied in an intricate knot at her hip.

It was quite flashy and bold with different shades of pink one on top of the other, the lace giving it a particular flair. The pink tones brought a good deal of color to her face, making her appear very lively today. Once again Miranda was hiding all, but at the same time not hiding at all.

That reminded her— “Miranda have you considered which outfit you’d prefer to be in permanently for the portrait?” Andy asked.

“No.” Miranda said. “I haven’t.” Her lips pressed together in a thin line.

“If you could decide on one permanent outfit to wear at the sessions coming up that would be much appreciated. Today I’ll start work on a first attempt on a canvas with paint. This is just a sample but for future reference it would be best if you had Emily messenger over an outfit so that you can change back when we are done with the session instead of having to wear the same outfit once a week.”

“Yes, I’ll let Emily know when I’ve chosen one.”

“And,” she continued, “A specific hour and place should also be decided on. For the light in the painting you understand. Morning, noon and evening all have different levels of light.”

“I see.” And paused to consider this, “I’ll tell Emily to inform you once I’ve compiled a list of suitable options.” Miranda said at last. She might be famous for her snap decisions but this time she’d make sure to think on it.

“Alright.” Andy reach out to pose her then paused, “May I?” she lifted her palms open in a motion that could have been almost pleading. Maybe too close to pleading for Andy’s liking.

Andy didn’t appreciate having to admit that she wanted to feel Miranda’s face against her palm again despite all her misgivings. She was still evaluating her sexuality after all. The more she questioned the more questions she came up with.

“If I said no would that stop you?” ‘Miranda asked eyeing her.

“Yes.” Andy replied immediately. She’d never touch Miranda without her permission. What an odd thing to ask. Why would she..? Unless someone had? That just couldn’t be true…could it? Andy didn’t have time to ponder this more before Miranda spoke again.

“Continue.” Miranda said and lifted her head to give Andy better access.

Andy gently guided Miranda into the position for the portrait, this time refusing to linger on her face any more than absolutely necessary. She focused on keeping her touch purely professional.

It was probably one of the most difficult things she’d ever done. She wanted…what did she want? She wasn’t entirely sure she knew. She wanted to touch Miranda’s jaw. To rub her thumb against her lips, to watch her eyes shut in a soft gasp as she did so.

Yes, that was what she wanted.

But more than that, she wanted to press those lips against her own. Andy removed her hand too quickly as she thought that traitorous thought consciously.

She’d never wanted to kiss another woman before. Miranda was, as Andy was beginning to discover, the exception to many of her own rules.

Miranda arched a sculpted eyebrow questioning the swift motion.

Andy shook her head and finished posing her.

“There.” Andy murmured. That was the place that she’d been posed at all these past sessions. Andy had once again found the exact position that would make Miranda appear to be caught in a moment of time. She moved that one rebellious lock of hair to where it had been the first time they’d done a sitting. Miranda flinched slightly but again said nothing.

She pulled back immediately. But no matter what Andy did she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about kissing Miranda or the look she’d had in her eyes the last time Andy had posed her.

She went back to her easel where she place a large blank canvas. She began to blend the colors for Miranda’s skin tone.

 

* * *

 

Slowly, the minutes passed and turned into half an hour before Andy finally paused in her work. She’d gotten the base of Miranda’s shape etched out, but it still needed a lot more work.

Andy stretched her shoulder a bit and asked. “Time for a break?”

Miranda nodded and stood up.

“Water?” Andy proposed. She noticed Miranda hadn’t finished her tea, but it was cold now.

Miranda nodded once more, still not looking directly at Andy for more than a few seconds at a time. This was getting to be slightly obnoxious. They hadn’t done anything wrong the last session. So why couldn’t Miranda look at her properly?

As was becoming their habit now Andy left the room to fetch Miranda some water.

She returned to the studio, glass of water in hand. She almost dropped it when she caught sight of what Miranda was looking at. To her dismay Miranda had lifted the tarp and was looking at the partial portrait she’d done last night. The tarp had been dropped to the ground carelessly. Miranda stood staring at the portrait of herself with furrowed brows. Andy wondered if she recognized the expression. Or when Andy had actually see it.

“Miranda—”

“What is this Andrea?” Miranda murmured. She was holding back her emotions, or probably more accurately suffocating them with her tight hold on them. Fuck. Andy’s thought’s scrambled. How would she explain this?

“An attempt a creating a sample before you returned from Paris.” Andy said after recovering slightly from the shock. Andy set the glass of water down on the coffee table, fearing that she might actually drop it. Her hands were shaking. Why did she have to see this painting? The one she’d hoped Miranda would never see.

“That’s not what I meant.” Miranda snapped.

She gapped at her, at a loss. “I’m sorry I don’t—”

“I asked you what this is. It would be self-evident to an infant that this is an attempt at portraying me.” Miranda said, her voice turning sharp, annoyed at Andy’s lack of immediate compliance. “Now explain to me what this _really_ is.”

 _‘Oh. That’s what she meant…’_ Andy thought. She bit the inside of her cheek.

“I was upset last night.” She muttered.

“Elaborate.” Miranda said when it was clear Andy wouldn’t speak without being prodded.

She wondered how much she should tell Miranda. How much would she want to hear? How much would she be willing to hear before getting sick of her and deem her a pathetic little person, full of self-pity and egotism? Andy swallowed hard.

“I found out that my husband was cheating on me… I found him in bed with another woman.” Andy continued. She couldn’t look Miranda in the eye. So she looked anywhere but her eyes. The arch of her neck. The crook of her arm. Her waist and the cardigan’s knot tied there. Her eyes stung but she refused to give sway to the tears that threatened.

Miranda’s sharp intake of breath was enough to know she hadn’t wanted that many details. Too bad. The flood gates had opened. Miranda had wanted to know? Andy would tell her.

“It was my assistant, Lily. I yelled at her to get out of the apartment and she did. He—” She stopped and took a deep shuddering breath. Why was she explaining all this? Why wasn’t Miranda stopping her? She couldn’t possibly care…could she? Andy didn’t dare to hope.

“He left with an overnight bag. I told him we were over…I’m getting a divorce.”

Miranda’s eyes shut and she sighed.

Andy continued undeterred, “I should have seen this coming. How _stupid_ could I be? I mean it certainly wouldn’t take a genius to notice all the late nights at work and the way Lily stared at him—”

“Andrea. _Stop._ ” Miranda ordered. Andy shut her mouth immediately. There was something so comforting in having someone strong tell her what to do. ‘Stop’. She could do that. So she did.

“Alright. Good. Now. What does this painting have to do with any of that?” Miranda asked.

She’d come to stand in front of Andy, looking her in the eyes. Searching for the answers in her face again. When would Miranda learn that Andy’s face was anything but an open book? Her father had taught her never to show her emotions to anyone she thought might use them against her.

‘Good’. Miranda had said. Finally she’d done something right.

“I was upset.” Andy murmured, “I paint when I’m upset. Your face was the only one that came to mind. I kept seeing your face the night of the gallery opening. That expression in particular. It baffled me. It still does. Why did you look at me like that?” Andy asked rhetorically, still not looking at Miranda. She in turn said nothing.

“Was it pity? Please don’t say it was pity. But what else could it have been?” Andy asked more to herself than to Miranda. “That question kept bothering me while I painted last night. This is what came out of it. I’m sorry you had to see it. I should have thrown it out.”

“No!” Miranda said forcefully. She paused. “No,” she said again more calmly, “Don’t. That would be pointless so just...I— ”

Andy was willing to bet that very few people ever saw Miranda Priestly at a loss for words, much less actually _flustered._ After a few moments of looking away from Andy she eventually managed to compose herself.

“Andrea, your husband is a fool if he doesn’t see just how _lucky,_ he is to have you for a wife.” Miranda said. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Andy couldn’t cover the scoffing sound she made. Lucky. Ha. No one would consider themselves lucky to have her. She was a mess. Unstable. Wasn’t that what everyone thought of her anyways?

The look she saw Miranda give then her was not one filled with a sharp annoyance, as Andy had expected. It was worryingly close to the expression on the canvas behind them. Andy looked away at once. She just couldn’t bear it, to see _that look_ directed at her.

“Please don’t. Don’t look at me like that. I don’t need your pity—”

“I don’t pity you Andrea.”

“Then why?” Andy murmured, finally looking Miranda in the eye.

“I— I suppose I feel a kind of empathy.” Miranda said. Andy could have sworn she saw Miranda’s face flush with just the barest hint of pink.

“Oh.” Andy let out a rush of air. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath.

“Yes, ‘oh’.” Miranda replied. She looked away and this time Andy was sure she was blushing. She was embarrassed. Miranda wasn’t usually one to make personal comments. So why had she? Andy really couldn’t understand her sometimes.

She felt the baby kick again. Andy gasped and Miranda looked at her alarmed. “It’s nothing. The baby started kicking today. That’s all.”

“Congratulations Andrea.” Miranda said. The look in her eyes was something bordering on gentle. Andy had never seen _that_ look before. It, in contrast, was nothing like the one she’d painted on the canvas. It was much softer. Almost strangely so.

 _‘Such beautiful eyes. So much emotion. They change constantly.’_ Andy thought.

Andy took a deep breath, as she felt the baby squirm around some more. It was a distracting but comforting sensations as well. Her baby was fine. So was she. For now.

Miranda looked at her watch.

“We should continue don’t you think?” Miranda said glancing at the partial canvas they had only just begun. It had been about 30 minutes since they’d agreed to take a break. Shit. They really had to stop doing this, Andy mused. Letting things ‘happen’ even though nothing really ‘happened’…so to speak.

Andy stood and went back to her canvas. She picked up her brush in time to see Miranda sit in the armchair. Miranda looked at her expectantly. Right. Time to pose Miranda again.

 _‘Focus Andy.’_ She thought.

Andy went towards Miranda and reached out to pose her, only noticing to late the paint brush still in her hand. Before she could pull her hand back, the paint brush smudged up against Miranda’s cardigan and her dress. A large dollop of paint spread across the fabric of the sheath and the cardigan. Andy gasped, and pulled away immediately. “Shit” she swore under her breath.

Miranda gasped too and jerked back from Andy’s brush. But it was too late. The damage had been done. A brownish beige splotch of undiluted paint stained Miranda’s cardigan.

Andy immediately began to apologize profusely. “Oh my God, Miranda I am so sorry, of course I’ll—” Andy could hardly breathe.

“Andrea. Calm down. Sit.” Andy obeyed Miranda without question once again. “Don’t have a panic attack for God’s sake.” Miranda gestured at her splotch and at her dress. “This is nothing. Nothing that can’t be easily replaced. In fact…” she opened her cellphone and called Emily.

“Emily, get me another sample of the Notte pink Marchesa sheath I was wearing today and the Thakoon carding in taupe as well. Have them messengered over to Andrea’s before the end of our session. That’s all. ” She didn’t wait to the red head’s reply.

Andy blinked at Miranda abrupt method of giving orders to her assistant. She liked it. Logical, impersonal and practical. Andy could definitely take a page out of her book. Huh. Who would have thought?

That reminded her, she’d have to hire a new assistant. What a tedious business. But it wasn’t as though she could to forgive Lily for what she’d done. Therefore a new assistant was necessary.

She looked at the stained material of Miranda’s beautiful dress and grimaced apologetically. She’d really ruined it, accidentally or not, it was no longer wearable.

“I really am sor—” Andy tried to say.

“Oh for Pete’s sake don’t apologize again.” Miranda interrupted her.

Andy had expected Miranda to be absolutely livid with her. But there was no anger in her eyes. Just a vague sense of annoyance. Andy went to put the brush down at her easel before another accident happened. She passed a hand over her face in exasperation at herself. Today was not her day.

 _‘Dear God the effect this woman has on me. It’s unprecedented.’_ Andy thought. When she looked up at Miranda she noticed the paint had managed to spread to the edge of Miranda’s neckline. The paint was on her skin. Shit.

Andy stifled a groan seeing it there, marring her pale skin. Damn. She’d have to tell her it was there, she couldn’t just let it dry. It would be a real pain to get it off at that point.

“Miranda—” Andy hesitated. How on earth would a person put such a thing politely?

“Yes?” she asked impatiently.

“There is paint on your neck.” She said in a rush. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.

“What?” She touched her neck and her fingers came away with the paint on them. “Oh.” She sounded less than impressed.

“I’ll get you a wet cloth. The paint should come off easily since it hasn’t dried yet.” Before Miranda could protest, Andy went to the bathroom. She grabbed a small towel, wet it a bit and came back. Andy held out the towel.

Instead of taking it, Miranda tilted her head, expecting Andy to wipe it off for her.

Oh God. Andy’s breath caught in her throat.

Despite her shock, she didn’t miss a beat. Andy pressed the cool wet cloth to Miranda’s neck line and deftly began swiping away the paint. It had already started to dry, slightly. This would take a few minutes. Miranda flinched a bit at the wet cold towel touching her skin but she let Andy continue.

Andy couldn’t help but notice how close they were. She could almost feel the heat radiating off her. Miranda’s breath hitched when Andy continued down closer to the top of her cleavage where the paint had leaked down in streaks.

Andy on the other hand continued cleaning Miranda’s skin off, almost reverently.

Andy bit her lip, concentrating on the task at hand so to speak.

The baby kicked, this time hard and Andy gasped. Miranda turned to look at her sharply and ended up not an inch away from Andy’s face. They were so close Andy could feel her breathe.

 _‘Oh God…’_ Andy thought. Miranda’s eyes were so grey and cool today.

The baby kicked again and Andy gasped and let a hand fall to her middle.

“The baby is again kicking. Sorry.” Andy almost whispered.

“It’s fine.” Miranda replied softly. Neither of them had pulled away. They were so close. So close to touching.

A moment passed between them where neither of them spoke but the tension between them was so thick it could have been cut with a knife.

Finally Andy turned her face away, unable to bear being so close to Miranda and not being allowed _more._

Miranda watched Andy, observing her with an uncanny scrutiny. Andy glanced up from under lashes periodically at Miranda as she continued to clean off the remnants of the paint.

“I think I got most of it.”

“Yes.” Miranda murmured. She checked her Swarovski watch again.

There was a ringing sound from the door monitor at the front door.

Andy quickly went to get it calling behind her, “It’s probably for your outfit.”

Andy opened the door to see a messenger holding a plastic covered hanger and a signature pad. Miranda had followed behind Andy.

“Miss Priestly?” the messenger man asked.

“Yes that’s me.” Miranda replied.

“Sign here please.” He said.

Miranda signed quickly and Andy stepped forward to take the hanger from the man.

The man left and they both went back down the hall. “You can change in the bathroom.” Andy pointed out the correct door. She handed Miranda the clothes. Miranda took them from her and her fingers brushed against Andy’s as she did. Andy shivered.

Miranda headed in to the bathroom. Andy waited outside, patiently.

A few minutes passed and Miranda reemerged from the bathroom dressed in the new outfit. But she hadn’t put on the cardigan.

She turned her back to Andy and looked over her should and said, “Would you zip me up?”

Andy’s eyes widened but she still managed to say, “Y-yes. Of course.” Andy gulped.

She gripped the zipper and slid it up slowly. Her knuckles brushed the skin of Miranda’s bare back and she felt Miranda shudder.

Andy clenched her teeth together to prevent herself from gasping.

She finished zipping her up and took a step back to allow Miranda to turn around.

Miranda turned around. Andy didn’t think it was a good idea to look Miranda in the eye right now. She might see something in Andy’s eyes that she really hadn’t bargained for.

 _‘Damn. This woman is just trying to give me a heart attack isn’t she?’_ Andy thought.

Miranda checked her watch again. Andy saw the time. Shit. Almost 4:30pm. And they had hardly progressed with the painting at all.

“I suggest we meet twice more this week. To compensate for the lost time because of fashion week and this incident today. The painting really should be advancing at a smoother pace than this.” Miranda said lightly.

“Oh, um yes.” Andy was flabbergasted by her proposal and trying her best not to show it. She’d get to see Miranda twice more this week? God only knew what would ‘happen’ then. This could either be a genius idea, or a very, very bad idea.

But despite her misgivings she still said, “Alright. Tell your assistant to call me and let me know what times would be best for you this week.”

Miranda just nodded. “I should go. Stephen will be home soon.” And just like that Andy felt as though Miranda had thrown a wet blanket on her.

Andy sighed. “Of course. I’ll walk you out.”

At the door Miranda waited for Andy to get her coat. Andy almost handed it directly to her but thought better of it.

She held it and just like the last time, Miranda slipped into it. Andy’s finger touched her neck again.

“Alright. Well, have a good evening.” Andy said. Miranda turned to look at her.

"Yes," Miranda said, her voice clipped. “Same to you.” And then she was out the door and gone in the blink of an eye.

Andy went back to the kitchen and sat at the stool at the serving island. “Christ. _That woman._ ”

 

-TBC-

 


	7. The Flames, The Forge And The Hammer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy Sachs Goldman is a celebrated painter. She paints the rich and famous all around the world. Or, she did, until two years ago when she dropped off the grid entirely and became almost hermit-like. But now after her self-imposed exile, she is back in the public eye. Miranda Priestly has only a vague recollection of ever hearing about AS Goldman, but when she meets the woman in the flesh, her unexpected offer of a portrait surprises her into accepting. Will these two women find a balance between their two personalities and get along for the sake of the portrait? Or will Andy's past come back to haunt them and tear them apart irreparably?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/n: Medical and legal facts may sometimes be inaccurate and have been altered to fit the needs of the story.)

 

 _“The good Lord made us all out of iron. Then he turns up the heat to forge some of us into steel.”_ _—_ Marie Osmond

 

Andy tossed and turned on her newly acquired bed. It felt strange without someone sleeping on the other side.

She’d had the old one put into storage, the day after Miranda’s last session.

There was a strange kind of cold that had seeped into her bones recently.

She couldn’t seem to stop being cold all the time. Her feet and hands in particular felt perpetually chilled.

Andy wrapped herself in the blankets even tighter and shut her eyes in defiance of the elusiveness of the peace she longed for. Sleep was being a fickle bitch tonight. Andy heaved an annoyed sigh.

What she wouldn’t give to be back in Italy, in her beloved Florence, enjoying the sun, instead of freezing in cold, lonely New-York.

November always had been one of her least favourite months. Too cold to be pleasant most days, yet not cold enough to be called winter yet and therefore warrant the wearing of fashionable winter clothes. Ones that actually kept people warm, instead of those flimsy fall clothes that after a month or so offered no protections whatsoever against the damp cold of the November rains.

Finally after another 15 minutes of grappling with the covers and her own discomfort she relented and got up.

She went to the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea. She sat at her serving island and leaned on her elbows. She sipped at her green tea, relishing the heat it radiated through her. Her fingers curled around the mug, enjoying the heat it imparted to her ever cold hands.

Andy finished her cup and went to turn up the heat before finally heading back to the bed. Andy looked up at the ceiling to begin another starring match, one which if she was lucky, she would quickly loose.

She wasn’t lucky.

Henry hadn’t called. He hadn’t even come back for his things yet. It had been two days.

Not a word.

Did he even care? Or was he relieved? Andy honestly didn’t know.

She’d never thought Henry would have it in him to betray her like he had. He’d been kind to her once. It was what had drawn them together, much to the delight of everyone around them.

Andy’s father had always told her, “Find someone who can run the company well, make him family and then you can paint your silly pictures for the rest of your days.” She could still hear her father’s voice in her mind saying those words to a 12 year old Andy after the death of her mother. Any softness that Andy’s mom had found in her father had died with her and her lung cancer.

Andy’d taken that knowledge to heart, even at such a tender age. She longed to be free to paint. But it wasn’t meant to be. She had responsibilities, as her father was so fond of reminding her.

Andy loved her father, she really did. He was a cold, strong man, who’d lost his beloved wife and didn’t really know what to do with his teenage daughter. He had Andy packed off to a boarding school in London. Andy could almost roll her eyes at all the blatant stereotypes her relationship with her father embodied.

Andy and her father never talked about her mother, after she died. It was too painful for him. Some days her father couldn’t bear to look at her and for the longest time Andy had wondered why that was. Had she done something wrong? But when she finally found pictures of her mother years later she realised just how much they looked alike and felt awful for her father.

But her father was not one to be pitied or even sympathized with. He never remarried.

Andy had always wondered if he’d wished she’d been a boy instead of a girl. He’d placed his expectations on her from an early age, and despite it all they still loved each other, in their own awkward way. So she’d done her damned best at school and became quite formidable in her own right as she took the helm of the family company.

By the time she was 25 she’d been running the company under her father’s guidance for 4 years.

She hated it. She had hated every damn minute of it. But her father was not to be disobeyed.

She met Henry that year when the Goldman’s had started agreements for the merger of Sachs and Co. and Goldman and Co.

She’d married Henry Goldman and had Ethan that same year… And then her world was crushed like a glass being smashed by a hammer. Mercilessly. Hundreds of irreparable unrecognisable pieces, her life broken, never to be fixed again. Her sanity hanging by a shred.

Ethan was dead. Nothing mattered anymore.

She’d thought she’d never be capable of facing the world again. Henry had tried to be supportive but it hadn’t helped. The only thing that had helped was her painting.

Her escape.

But it wasn’t enough.

Everywhere Andy looked she was reminded of the loss she had suffered.

She tried to kill herself. Twice. She failed both times.

It was only Henry’s defence of her and her paintings that kept her out of a psychiatric hospital.

Henry suffered too. But instead of letting out his emotions he drowned them in alcohol.

He still did.

Finally Andy couldn’t handle it anymore. They decided to separate willingly for a time. She fled to Florence and signed up for a prestigious art program there. She garnered a lot of attention with her portraits. When she landed a portrait deal with a few celebrities across the pond that had been when the world had truly begun to notice her.

Andy finished the six month program and opened a gallery in Paris. She found some semblance of sanity, the more she painted. She was still anti-social and depressed but she was no longer suicidal.

Henry visited her in both Florence and Paris, twice a month for a few days at a time. He still drank too often. But he was Andy’s safety net and he did a good job at being there to catch her as much as he could. Andy couldn’t fault him for that. So Andy ignored his drinking problem so long as he was there for her.

They never loved each other.

Their fathers had basically shoved them together and eventually they had caved in to the expectations set on them. They both knew that.

Andy never told Henry she loved him. Not once. Because she didn’t.

Henry had tried to say it, but Andy had cut him off and told him he only wished he loved her. It was true. He wished that he did. But he didn’t and they slowly accepted that their marriage was one of convenience and not one of love.

They were friends and partners of sorts. And sometimes lovers. It was mostly out of a need for comfort that they chose to be lovers. They feared the accusations a lack of monogamy could cause, and their prenup prevented any form of adultery, consensual on the part of both parties or not, on pain of losing everything they owned.

Her father officially retired and let Henry take over as CEO the year she turned 27.

The irony was lost on her when he died a month after he retired. A car crash. It had been terribly strange for her to think of her indomitable father as someone who could be hurt or killed so easily. But he had been.

Andy touched a hand to her baby bump. Her father would never get to see either of her children grow up. At least her father had seen Ethan before he’d died. He’d been so pleased. Andy could still see his smile as he played with her baby boy.

Some days Andy almost wished she could believe in a God, and in heaven. But she couldn’t bring herself to. Because if there was a heaven where the dead went to be reunited, the thought of dying would be far too tempting for Andy. She’d lost so many people in her life. And now she was losing Henry too.

She felt the baby move and she sighed. If she lost this baby…she couldn’t even contemplate how she would survive it. Simply because she knew she wouldn’t. But, so long as this child was alive, she would live. She could never willingly do what her mother had done accidentally to her child.

Would this baby be a boy or a girl? How much would Henry be involved? Andy wouldn’t deny him the right to see the child, but she couldn’t abide him being around it while he was still drinking.

Andy wished her mother had still been alive. Allegra Sachs’ advice had always been sound, even when Andy had been just a young girl. And she wished her mother had gotten the chance to see her child—children, Andy corrected herself. She wished Ethan had never died. She couldn’t help tearing up thinking of her little boy, gripping her fingers and looking up at her so intently with curious blue eyes— a sob escaped her. ‘ _Damn it.’_ She thought.

Andy covered her face with her hands and groaned. This was why she used to take sleeping pills. Late night trips down memory lane never led anywhere pleasant.

She could still see his face in her mind, clear as day. And if she closed her eyes she could smell his clean new-baby smell. Andy didn’t try to hold back the tears that came sliding down her face. She curled up on herself and touched her baby bump. What would it be like when this child arrived? What if it was another boy? How would she cope? Would she see Ethan’s face in this new child’s features? Would they be alike in temperament?

“Oh God.” Andy sobbed. “Oh please no.” She didn’t want to be constantly comparing both children. What would that do to the child, if she couldn’t help herself?

The memories she had worked so hard to bury came out of their dark corner in her mind and tormented her.

Ethan’s mouth open as he slept, Ethan gulping down his milk hungrily, Ethan making adorable noises as Henry baby talked to him, Ethan falling asleep in her arms as she sang a lullaby to him.

She lay there curled up on the new bed, and sobbed for a while, quietly whimpering with each memory that crept up on her.

She felt the baby kick, almost as if to protest that she was upset. Andy took a few deep breaths. She stood up again. Apparently sleep wasn’t going to happen for a while yet. She headed for her studio. Painting seemed like a good idea. Ungodly hour or no. She needed to not think for a while.

Andy walked past the room she dreaded most in the flat. The one that had made her almost sell this flat. She paused in front of the door, her hand on the door handle

Andy rarely went in _the nursery_. She couldn’t bear all the memories it brought back. She hadn’t been able to get rid of the baby things still in there. But now that she was certain of her pregnancy, she would likely have to go into that room eventually. Or maybe she’d get her eventual still-to-be-hired-non-existent-yet, new assistant to take care of the renovations. There had to be renovations. It was hard to accept but it would be rather macabre to have a different child in the cradle of a dead one.

She took her courage with both hands and opened the door. She turned on the light.

Andy flinched seeing the empty crib.

She slowly walked into the room, glancing around at the toys still left on the shelves and the baby clothes in their baskets. The curtains with a forest pattern on them were still there, covering the large window. The walls painted with a pastel dark green paint and a tree design on the far wall with framed pictures of Ethan hung on each painted branch. Andy felt her head spin and she leaned against the nearest object. Her hand fell on the arm of the oak rocking chair her father had given her as a congratulations present.

She sat down in the chair, unable to support herself, with all the painful emotions flooding her mind. Why had she come in here? Was she a masochists now? Everywhere she looked, one name kept running through her mind. _“Ethan.”_ She whispered through the inescapable tears still leaving trails as they dripped down her cheeks.

“I don’t know if I can do this again.” Andy murmured, to the empty room. She swayed in the rocker, back and forth, memories of their son in her arms washing over her in bitter waves. So much happiness. So much loss.

The baby kicked again. Suddenly Andy knew she would do it all again. She would design the nursery herself, she would go and find maternity wear herself and she would take care of herself and this child. She had to. There was no other option.

Andy would hold herself together through it all. She would do it for herself and for this new baby.

Eventually Andy left the nursery room and went back to her new bed. She didn’t fall asleep right away but after about an hour or so, the sandman finally came for a visit.

 

* * *

 

Andy was awakened by the baby kicking at about 9am the next morning.

“So you’re awake huh? I bet you’re hungry. Me too.” Andy murmured to the squirming baby.

She got up and went to the kitchen. She checked the fridge and saw what her chef had bought for the week. Marina had been with Andy and Henry for about three years now. She made super a few nights a week and she also stocked the fridge for the other meals Andy and Henry might or might not make during the week. Their schedules were always unstable but they were— _had been,_ Andy corrected her own thought, pretty good about having dinner together at home a few times a week. Obviously that wouldn’t be the case anymore.

She made toast and sliced up some melon. She took her prenatal vitamin. She made buckwheat tea. The taste reminded her of Miranda’s first time trying it. She would have to call Emily and set up the next sessions for this week.

She would see Miranda twice more this week. Andy sighed and put down her toast. She didn’t know what to do. She… _wanted_ Miranda. Andy’d thought of herself as straight for so long that it was very strange for her to contemplate the reality of her attraction towards Miranda.

She’d been so sure she was straight… apparently not. Meeting Miranda had made her realize things about herself that she’d never questioned before.

She sipped at her tea, enjoying the smell of it as she drank. She put her cup down and glanced at her cellphone on the counter.

No calls yet.

Damn it, Henry was going to make her call him wasn’t he? It would be a very Henry like thing to do. He always had been a bit of coward when it came to fighting her on anything.

She and Henry were getting a divorce. The reality of that fact washed over her.

“God,” she breathed. Why was it that whenever Andy’s life changed, it happened in huge shifts all at once, instead of in increments? Was that normal? Maybe it was just her. She really didn’t know.

She should drop by the gallery for a few hours today, see how sales were going and check up on Gisele since she was now in charge of running the gallery till Andy hired a new ‘Lily’. She’d have to look for one and soon.

Andy couldn’t understand Lily’s reasoning for sleeping with Henry. But then she’d never understood how anyone could be unfaithful in a relationship, love or no love. She’d thought she and Henry had had it pretty good. That they’d reached a point in their lives where, ok, admittedly they didn’t love each other, not in the traditional way, but they were friends and good partners. Most of the time.

Even though it was true Henry got on Andy’s nerves quite often. But he’d chosen to break their agreement and at the same time, break her trust.

It was almost ironic to think that if Henry had actually talked to Andy about wanting to have a lover, or openly chosen to separate himself from her cleanly, things would have undoubtedly been different. She might have forgiven him for leaving her. She might even have considered letting him have a lover while remaining married…if they hadn’t had a child involved.

But as things stood now, he’d been sleazy about the whole ordeal. He’d chosen the worst partner, and if Andy was being completely honest with herself, the most clichéd one as well. If only he’d been honest with her… They might have stayed friends.

It was the secrecy and the trust broken between them that Andy resented most. They’d had a child together for Christ’s sake. They were having another one despite having taken precautions. Had he even thought about what his adultery would do to Andy and the baby?

She glanced at her phone again. She was going to have to call him. It had been two days after all.

He needed new clothes and she was ready for him to get out of the flat. Seeing his belongings everywhere only made it more difficult for Andy to think of anything but the impending divorce or her past.

She picked up the phone and called Henry’s cell.

He picked up.

“Hello Andy.” He sounded apprehensive. With good reason. Andy nearly snorted.

“Hello…” There was an awkward pause. Was there still room for politeness in the shred of their relationship? “You should come by to pick up your things. I’ll be at the gallery for a while. It would be best if you came while I am not here.” she said.

“Yes, alright, I’ll do that…Andy I am sorry—” he tried to say.

“Henry. Please.” She cut him off. She couldn’t hear his apologies right now. Not when she knew his sentiment would probably be a lie. “We’ve been through so much together I—” she paused and took steadying breath. “It’s been going on for a while then?” She asked.

“A few months now. Since before you found out about the baby. I swear Andy I wouldn’t have started it if I’d know there would be another child.” He said, his voice sounded pained. “Andy, I love her.”

“Ah.” She said. “I see.” And she did.

That explained everything. He was in love. The one thing Andy had never been able to give him.

It all made sense now.

“Well then. All the more reason for you to move out. Henry I’ll be back at the flat around five. Do you think you’ll have the time to get most of your things out by then?” She tried to sound professional. She even went so far as to use her ‘board room’voice. It was just a shade shy of authoritative but it demanded obedience. It was the one she’d learned from her father, while she ran the company.

“I— Yes. That will be plenty of time.” he sounded shocked by how cold she was being. Personally she didn’t see the point in being openly volatile towards him. It certainly wouldn’t help the divorce go smoothly if they became hateful towards one another.

“I took the liberty of setting up an appointment with our lawyers at 3pm Saturday.”

Andy quickly went through her mental agenda. “Yes. That’s good then.”

“You aren’t going to enforce the prenup, are you?” Henry dared to ask. Andy gapped at the phone in her hand.

He expected her to let him keep the part of her inheritance her father had created for her to share with her spouse? To continue running the company her father had created? Andy’s heart hardened at his pretentious expectations.

How dare he expect her to forgive him so easily?

“Yes I most certainly am going to enforce the prenup Henry.” She said flatly. She had to keep her cool. She’d learned that fighting fire with fire made more fire while fighting fire with ice put out the barest hint of a flame.

She could almost see Henry wince on the other end of the phone.

“Andy please, c’mon I—”

“No, Henry. You broke our agreement.” She growled. “You violated the prenup and even worse than all that, you broke my trust. The prenup stands. Pick up your things today or I will put them outside the apartment and leave them there for anyone to take. Goodbye Henry.”

“Andy! You can’t—” She hung up, not wanting to hear him plead for her to be more lenient. He most certainly did not deserve it.

The sheer nerve of him! To expect her to relent and allow him to continue making money from her family’s success after betraying her like he had! Love or no, he was sorely mistaken.

Miranda’s words echoed through her mind then, _“Andrea, your husband is a fool if he doesn’t see just how lucky, he is to have you for a wife.”_

Maybe Miranda was right. Maybe he was a fool. She glared at the phone in her hand trying to stifle the unmitigated outrage she felt towards Henry’s gal.

She sighed and put her dishes in the sink a little too roughly.

She was already dreading Saturday. She would have to call her lawyer to confirm the meeting and get material ready for the fight she’d hoped to avoid.

How could Henry be so stupid? Did he really believe she would soften and let him continue to profit from a family company that rightfully belonged her? He maybe be acting CEO but she was still the main shareholder, despite her lack of involvement for the past couple of years. She had continued to keep herself informed of the company’s progress.

She may not want to run the damn thing but that didn’t mean she’d watch her father’s empire fall apart or even weaken. Not under her watch. Henry’s father had merged his company to Andy’s father’s company after almost going bankrupt.

If Richard Sachs’ hadn’t bought Goldman and Co. as a favour to his long-time friend Charles Goldman, the company would have crashed and Henry’s family would have lost everything. Andy would be damned if she watched Henry continue to profit from something he owned only in name after betraying her trust so blatantly. He was an employee, not an owner. It was time he learned the difference.

Andy checked the time on her phone. 10:23am. She should leave before Henry came to pick his stuff up. She showered and applied some basic makeup before turning to her walk in closet. She chose a cherry red Valentino button-up dress and a sharply cut white overcoat with a black fur trim around the collar*. She paired the look with some chic Gucci sunglasses and Jimmy Choo grey and red pointed heels. She grabbed her turquoise Kate Spade clutch, and called Mark, her driver. Andy refused to drive while pregnant if she could avoid it. She locked the door behind her as she left.

A few minutes later Andy was stepping into her town car, and was on the way to her gallery. She called Gisele from the car. “Hello, Gisele?”

“Yes, Andy?” the French woman replied immediately alert. Andy smirked.

“Yes, I’ll be there in about 30 minutes or so. Can you have this month’s report ready by the time I get there?”

“Yes Andy. It will be ready for you when you walk in the door.” Gisele said. She sounded nervous. Good. She should be. For all Andy knew, Henry had slept with all her female staff members.

“I’ll see you soon.” Andy hung up.

Mark looked at her from the rear-view mirror. He said nothing. But Andy could tell he worried about her. Mark was nearing 60 now and he’d been driving her since she was a teenager still living with her father.

She was tempted to reassure him that she was fine, and for a moment she almost did. But she held back. He may have known her for a long time but he was still an employee. So instead of addressing his concerned glances, she turned to look out the window.

* * *

 

Andy was pleased with the report Gisele had given her as well as how the sales had gone. She’d sold 5 paintings in the last two weeks which was just fine by her.

It wasn’t as though she really needed the money but it was always nice to hear that rich patrons appreciated her work enough to pay her asking prices.

Andy had informed her design team of the situation with Lily and that she no longer worked for her. She asked Gisele to find her possible replacements and call her when she’d narrowed the search down to three candidates that she though Andy might approve of.

She of course complied with Andy’s demands and the whole team expressed sympathy for Andy’s difficult situation with Lily and Henry.

Some were upset by the whole situation. Many had trouble believing Lily would do something like that, while others listened to Andy’s explanation with a grim expression. Had they known? Andy couldn’t help but wonder if they had noticed.

One of Andy’s advertisement personnel in particular, Nate Anderson, who’d been close friends with Lily, was upset by her dismissal.

Andy assured him she would give Lily a reference letter despite the personal nature of the termination of her employment. She wasn’t so cruel as to deprive the stupid woman of a job in the future. She just couldn’t work with her anymore.

He seemed to be somewhat pacified by that. Andy had walked around the gallery and checked on all that needed checking and signed some forms and made a few calls to thank the buyers of her paintings. She’d spent about two hours there in total.

After that, she’d called Mark again. Once in the car she asked him to take her shopping for maternity clothes and other baby necessities. She had time to burn and she needed to do it while she felt she had the strength to look at baby things without collapsing into tears in public. He’d smiled and congratulated her belatedly on her pregnancy. Andy smiled tightly and thanked him for it.

She bought about six or seven different outfits from high end maternity wear retailers and Mark helped her by carrying her bags for her. Andy had protested that she could still handle a few clothing bags but he’d insisted and she’d relented.

When it came to buying a new crib and a few new pieces of furniture for the nursery she did have to take a few deep breaths and fought back tears. She decided to wait to buy baby clothes until she knew what gender the baby would be.

She would likely find out either this appointment or the next. She’d found out at 16 weeks last time that she was having a boy. But this time around was a bit different. They hadn’t been able to tell on her last visit. The baby had been in a position where they couldn’t see anything yet.

Andy and Mark walked out of the store with a few new pieces of furniture and a bunch of bags filled with high-end maternity wear.

As they crossed the automatic doors, Andy saw a mother with a baby carrier strapped around her torso. In the carrier there was a little boy. Andy flinched and felt as though someone had just slapped her. She stopped dead in her tracks and Mark nearly bumped into her.

“Miss Andy, are you alright?” Mark asked, after he’d righted himself. His expression was filled a concern Andy knew was meant kindly, but instead it bothered her for a reason she couldn’t quite identify.

“Y-yes of course. I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Seeing babies was still very hard on Andy.

It was nearly 5 o’clock by the time they got back to her apartment. Andy saw a small truck and a few men putting boxes in it.

She saw Henry step out of the apartment, directing a man to put the box he was holding into the truck. Shit. Henry was still here. Just great.

“Mark, actually would you mind dropping me at the Starbucks a block over? I have a sudden craving for a green tea frappuccino.” Andy said. She’d just thought of it. It seemed a good excuse as any she could come up with. She was not up to facing Henry just yet.

“Of course Miss Andy. It’s no trouble at all. Should I circle the block till you are finished?”

“I’d appreciate it. And…”she hesitated, “Could you give me a call when Henry leaves?”

“Yes, Miss Andy.” He replied, not looking away from the road as he drove to the Starbucks.

“Thank you Mark.”

“You’re very welcome Miss Andy.”

 

* * *

 

It was six thirty when Andy finally walked in to her apartment with Mark behind her carrying most of the heavy things they’d bought.

She’d get the building’s handyman to set up the furniture for her sometime after she’d decided on how to redecorate the room. She was going to have think of a colour theme. Maybe after the gender of the baby was established she’d have more ideas.

As if sensing that Andy was thinking about it, the baby kicked a few times. Andy gasped a bit and touched the spots where the baby was kicking. Yep. She could definitely feel it on her hand this time.

Her phone rang.

“Hello?”

“This is Emily Charlton calling for Miranda Priestly,” said the Brit’s voice on the other end of the phone, “I’d like to set up Miranda’s appointments for this week?”

“Yes, what times work best for her?” Andy asked.

“She’s free on Thursday at 5pm and on Sunday at 5:30pm.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“She’ll arrive 15 minutes early.” Emily reminded her.

“Yes, I’m aware. Thank you Emily. Was there anything else?”

“No.” she said curtly.

“Have a nice evening.” Andy said. She hung up before the redhead could reciprocate.

Well then, that was settled. Marina had set out a bowl of spinach linguini which had fried shrimp, artichokes, asparagus and red pepper mixed in. It was scrumptious and she told Marina so before she left. The middle aged Russian woman smiled and thanked her before leaving for the night.

Andy finished her meal and then went to see how different the bedroom looked without Henry’s things in it.

Andy couldn’t help but stare at the now empty parts of the bedroom. The closet had sections that were entirely empty now. Well. That was easily remedied. She hung up all her new outfits in her closet.

The bathroom was a bit bare and she disliked seeing the ‘his and her’ sinks…there was no longer a ‘his’ sink. Just two sinks in one bathroom.

Andy contemplated whether or not her calmness in the face of all the obvious empty spaces in what was now only her flat was normal or if the reality of the situation hadn’t really hit her yet.

She thought it might be a bit of both.

Instead of letting her mind continuously think on it, she went to her studio and picked up her sketch pad. Andy did a few studies of Miranda. She drew Miranda’s expressions, her eyes, her eyebrows, her mouth, her neck, her hands, her hips…Andy lingered on that last one, enjoying the image that kept playing over and over in her mind. Miranda in a pencil skirt, her hips swaying as she walked steadily away from Andy in six inch heels.

Oh yes, Andy could certainly appreciate all of Miranda. From the tips of her perfectly manicured toes to the ends of her snowy white locks, Andy appreciated the almost sharp kind of beauty Miranda represented. She was strong as steel, yet beautiful and delicate too.

She could slice a person’s bluster apart with her words like a well sharpened knife through meat.

The way the corner of her mouth curved up into a predatory smile when she was satisfied with something or feeling smug was somehow endearing to Andy. And her eyes…Miranda’s eyes could either freeze or melt a person’s heart with their ever changing expressions. The lines at the edges of her mouth and the corners of her eyes only added to her beauty for Andy’s artistic eyes.

For the first time Andy wondered about the age difference between her and Miranda and if the fact that she hadn’t even thought about it till now made her strange. Miranda was almost exactly 22 years older than Andy.

Andy chuckled at herself. She hadn’t even noticed it before now.

Andy did a quick google search on her phone to check when exactly Miranda’s birthday was. The 28th of December Miranda would turn 50 this year. She was a Capricorn. Andy herself was a strange zodiac sign. She was born on the 21ist of December. That made her half Sagittarius half Capricorn. Or in other terms, a ‘Sagicorn’. Andy snorted at her own silliness.

Andy was not a spiritual person in any way shape or form but she couldn’t help but see the similarities between the personalities associated with the zodiacs she belonged to and her own personality.

The same apparently held true for Miranda.

Capricorns were notoriously well dressed, slow to trust and very reserved, but when someone managed to gain their trust, they would have a strong, intelligent friend. That seemed to fit Miranda to a ‘T’ in Andy’s mind.

She reminisced about her first time seeing Miranda coming down the steps at the Benefit. Andy had immediately thought she was elegant and remarkably beautiful that evening. Andy could now appreciate the low décolleté of her velvet Valentino evening gown all the more since realising her budding attraction towards the woman. Had that really only been a few weeks ago?

It was still difficult to wrap her mind around her current situation and just how quickly everything had changed. In a matter of weeks, Andy’s entire life had done a 180 degree flip. Or it felt like it had anyway.

Andy leaned back against the sturdy leather armchair she was seated in. She checked the time on her phone. Almost four hours had passed as Andy was drawing Miranda. It was past nine o’clock at night. Andy yawned. She really needed to figure out a way to get into a better sleep pattern.

She felt sleep prick at her eyes and decided to give sleep a chance. She only hoped she could avoid a repeat of last night. Memories were supposed to be good things to have, weren’t they?

Andy wondered if that was really true. For her, she wasn’t entirely sure that it was. Many of her best memories where intertwined with her worst, after all.

As Andy crawled into bed she was once again all too aware of the fact that she was alone in the bed. The baby began to move about, persistently. Andy sighed. If the baby kept that up for long, sleep might not be an option just yet.

She stood up to choose a book from the library on the wall. She picked a well-worn copy of the House of Spirits by Isabel Allende. Her fingers traced the old pages of a book she’d had since she was a teenager. It was one of her favourites. So many things had changed since she’d first read the book and yet the story held within these pages would never fade, never end nor change nor die. _‘A fragile immortality via immovability.’_ She mused. Just as Andy’s portraits, if treated properly for all time, would preserve the content it was intended to portray.

Speaking of portraits…She’d see Miranda for a sitting tomorrow. She went back to sit on the bed, book in hand.

 _‘What will ‘happen’ tomorrow?’_ Andy wondered. She supposed something was likely to ‘happen’ again. The ‘incidents’, for lack of a better word, which brought them torturously close to things that were forbidden and that neither of them was truly ready to accept, much less entertain as actual possibilities, seemed to be common occurrence during their sessions.

She closed her eyes, one hand holding the book, the other hand on her stomach, feeling the movement of her child. For once, she allowed herself the luxury of imagining various possibilities for what tomorrow might bring.

She and Miranda were very different women in some aspects, but in others they were quite similar.

They both lived their lives performing a balancing act on the most fragile of tightropes. The line between despair and hope.

Now that Henry, her self-declared safety net, was officially gone, Andy was perilously close to tipping over the edge. Now, as to whether she would tip of the edge of hope or despair… that remained to be seen.

All that was left to do, was wait and see when and where she would fall.

Andy knew she would fall.

She wondered for a moment if she was insane not to simply jump off the line and let what happened afterwards, happen. To let go of everything and allow the darkness she had fought so hard to banish, to swallow her whole again as it had during those terrible months after Ethan’s death. She’d lost her balance then…and she’d somehow regained it through painting.

It would be so easy to just let go once more… But then Miranda would be alone on the line.

No, Andy decided. If she was insane to try and find a balance between idealism and reality, between light and dark, then Miranda must also be just as insane. Being insane alone would certainly only be half as fun.

A _‘folie à deux’_ situation. How fitting.  
  
\- To be continued-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/n: Thank you so much to everyone who had commented, kudo-ed and even read my story! I really appreciate it! You guys are the best! I hope you've enjoyed it so far.)


	8. The Calm Before The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy Sachs Goldman is a celebrated painter. She paints the rich and famous all around the world. Or, she did, until two years ago when she dropped off the grid entirely and became almost hermit-like. But now after her self-imposed exile, she is back in the public eye. Miranda Priestly has only a vague recollection of ever hearing about AS Goldman, but when she meets the woman in the flesh, her unexpected offer of a portrait surprises her into accepting. Will these two women find a balance between their two personalities and get along for the sake of the portrait? Or will Andy's past come back to haunt them and tear them apart irreparably?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: some medical and legal facts may be inaccurate and have been altered to fit the needs of the story. This applies to all present and future chapters.

 

“When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”  
― Haruki Murakami , Kafka on the Shore

Andy glanced out the window as she painted and smiled to herself. It was a cloudy day, and some might consider it unpleasant but Andy loved this kind of weather. The sun weaved back and forth behind the clouds and the sky was indecisive shade of greyish blue, as though it couldn’t quite decide if it was going to be sunny or rainy today.

She glanced back at her subject, sitting so gracefully in the arm chair before looking back at the canvas in front of her.

Andy dipped her brush into the paint she had just finished blending for the skin tone and with a deft movement shaped it into the cheek bone of Miranda’s portrait.

The shape of the jaw had been established earlier during the session and the limits of the forehead and neck had begun to take shape. She glanced at her subject who was sitting still and silent as a statue in her armchair.

Andy took a moment to admire Miranda’s appearance, noting the dark cherry hue of her lipstick and the outline of her sharp mouth, the pale, almost white, beige of her skin, and the ever present tiny lines at the corners of her mouth which assured Andy that she did indeed smile once in a while. And of course her eyes with all their blue and grey blended shades that as of yet Andy could not name as a color.

Miranda flicked a glance at her. “No music today?”

“Would you like me to put something on?” Andy asked, surprised. She had wondered if the music she’d put on last time had annoyed Miranda more than anything so she hadn’t put any on this time. It seemed she’d been wrong.

Miranda nodded. It was true, it was very quiet today. Not even the sounds of the city bellow could cover the indomitable silence of the room. They had attempted conversation briefly, before that had fallen flat. Talking about ‘safe’ things, became boring very quickly.

From the moment Miranda had arrived on Andy’s doorstep, she’d been quiet and cool. Something was bothering her. Or maybe Andy was the one who had caused her discomfort. She couldn’t really tell. But she hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary.

Andy put down her brush and went to put some music on.

Before she could talk herself out of it she asked, “Anything particular you feel like listening to?”

“Bach’s suite for solo cello no.5 prelude in C minor by Yo-Yo Ma is quite enjoyable.” Miranda said, this time turning to look at Andy as she spoke and then catching herself in her misstep, turned back approximately to where she had been.

“You like Yo-Yo Ma?” Andy asked smiling. Miranda nodded, barely moving her head, careful not to turn to look at Andy again, as she did so.

“Me too. I really love the depth he can put into the sound he pulls from the strings. It’s such a rich and clear tone…flooding the senses as you listen…” Andy paused and realised she’d gotten carried away and said too much.

She blushed to her roots and she was sure she was noticeably pink, makeup or no. Miranda made no obvious sign that Andy’s babbling had annoyed her. In fact, there was a small curve to the corner of her mouth now, as Andy looked at her closely.

Andy found her Yo-Yo Ma album and set the music to play. The soft deep tones of the beginning of the piece filled the room. Andy watched Miranda’s shoulders relax almost imperceptibly.

Miranda was in a navy blue Armani suit today. It fit her like a glove. She wore a white button up blouse under the military jacket which she’d left the last couple of buttons near the top undone. This allowed for the occasional flash of cleavage and it was with great difficulty that Andy managed not to stare at anything but Miranda’s face during the session.

After the piece Miranda had requested ended Andy asked, “Do mind if I let the whole album play?” Miranda shook her head. Andy almost sighed in relief. She’d been wracking her brains for the past the few minutes as to what she would put on next had Miranda said ‘no’.

Miranda had moved out of place slightly to the left of where she should be as she had shaken her head.

Andy came forward and reached out to pose her again. She paused a few inches away from touching her.

“Yes.” Miranda murmured answering the unspoken question, not looking Andy in the eye.

Andy’s hands touched her shoulders first, pulling them a little bit to the left so it would be easier to tilt her head afterwards. She could feel the tension in them as she did so. Then slowly, cautiously, as she would do with a frightened animal, she slid her hand up to Miranda’s jaw turning her face slightly back to where it had to be.

She was painfully beautiful in that instant, with the light touching her features at just the right angle to create that perfect moment which Andy strived to capture on the canvas. And her eyes…they were so full of unspoken emotion that Andy had to grit her teeth together to stop herself from asking her what she was thinking. Andy let her hand linger a moment longer than was truly appropriate. She couldn’t help it. She longed to feel Miranda’s skin against her own, even in such a chaste way.

Miranda sighed, the sound of it was barely audible, and she let her eyes close for the barest instant before opening them again. As though she too were indulging in Andy’s touch…but that couldn’t be true…could it?

Andy felt that sigh travel across her sending shivers down her spine. Oh God. It had just been half a second if that, but Andy couldn’t deny that she found Miranda intensely beautiful.

She pulled her hand away slowly. She felt that if she moved to quickly Miranda might run from her, and never come back. It was becoming more and more difficult to restrain her outright desire for Miranda with each thing that ‘happened.’

Miranda deliberately moved her head to look at Andy.

Andy’s eyes met Miranda’s and in that moment Miranda read the desire in them as clear as day. Miranda’s mouth fell open and her eyes widened.

She was shocked. And she most certainly _knew._

 _‘Oh shit. Oh God. Oh no._ _She knows.’_ Andy thought panicked. Andy could tell she was surprised, and almost alarmed— Had she truly felt nothing at all? Had Andy read too much into their sessions? It was entirely possible.

‘ _Fuck.’_ Andy thought _. ‘What have I done?’_ She felt like such an _idiot_ for not having hid her longing better. God only knew what Miranda would do now.

“Miranda—” Andy tried to say, and then Miranda stood up abruptly, jarring the coffee table a bit as she moved. Andy flinched at the sound of the legs scrapping against the floor noisily.

“I should go.” She said urgently. “I’ve just remembered something. Stephen wanted to have dinner tonight. It must have slipped my mind earlier.” Miranda murmured, not looking Andy in the eye.

It was a blatant lie.

Andy’s jaw dropped. She was running away. Miranda Priestly, known powerhouse and feared business woman was running away from her.

Miranda made to go towards the door of the studio. Andy caught her arm just as she passed besides her. Miranda gasped as Andy gripped her forearm, preventing her from fleeing.

“Miranda, please, don’t go.” Andy pleaded, trying not to show just how hurt she was by Miranda leaving like this. “I— I don’t want anything from you. I— I don’t expect anything…so please. Don’t go.”

 _‘Please don’t leave_.’ Andy thought, searching Miranda’s face desperately.

It was the closest either of them had ever come to admitting that they felt anything for each other.

“Andrea. _Don’t. Lie. To. Me._ ” Miranda growled. “Let anyone else lie to me, I don’t care. But don’t _you_ lie to me. You want something from me. You have since the moment we met at the Benefit.” Miranda growled. Her cheeks were flushed and her expression bordering on outright anger.

Andy was stunned. How long had Miranda known this? How long had she kept coming back despite everything…what must she have though when Andy announced Henry and she were divorcing? Dear God. So much made sense now.

“Maybe that’s true.” Andy said after the moment of silence had passed. “But as I said. I expect nothing. So please. _Stay..._ Let me finish the painting.”

They both knew they were no longer talking about her leaving just for the session. They were talking about never coming back to finish the painting. Because that was what Miranda had intended to do, Andy knew it based on sheer intuition. Andy could guess how she would go about it. Making up excuse after excuse to put off Andy’s offers of sessions, until Andy got mad and stopped offering at all…

If they had been simply painter and subject, that could have worked. But, they were more than that. And they both knew it. Andy’s hand slid down Miranda’s arm and took her hand gently in her own. Miranda’s fingers were trembling slightly. Miranda gasped and looked up from the ground she’d kept her eyes fixed on.

She was flushed and her eyes had a sort of watery sheen that appeared only if a person was upset. There was a strained set to her jaw and Andy watched as Miranda swallowed hard.

Had Andy upset Miranda? Was it her fault? Andy wanted to make those not-quite-tears go away by any means necessary.

“Miranda…” Andy breathed. She looked at Miranda who was now looking away from her. But she didn’t pull her hand away. Why wasn’t she pulling her hand away? Andy didn’t know. Miranda’s breath hitched. She still refused to look at Andy.

“I have to go.” Miranda murmured again through tight lips.

“No you don’t.” Andy murmured.

“Oh, but I do have to Andrea.” Miranda murmured and this time there was a measure of cynical humour in her voice. Some kind of irony that Andy had missed or couldn’t understand. “If I didn’t…”

“What?” Andy asked. “What would happen if you didn’t leave?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. If her guesses where anywhere near accurate, they wouldn’t be what Andy wanted to hear.

“I have a husband.” Miranda said, finally looking up at Andy, slicing through Andy’s gentle gaze with her own dagger-like glare. “And my children. And my work. I could lose that.” Andy felt like Miranda had just slapped her, bringing up her family and work. It was true but that didn’t stop Andy from wanting her. She knew it was selfish. Terribly selfish. But no matter what Andy did, it seemed that Miranda was in her thoughts. It was an almost unhealthy attraction. She was helpless to fight against it and what was more, she didn’t want to.

“Do you love him?” Something inside of Andy must truly be suicidal to dare ask such a question. But then this wasn’t exactly a normal conversation either.

“No.” She said through clenched teeth.  
  
Andy felt immediately relieved. But that answer brought up a host of new questions that Andy hadn’t even been aware were a possibility before now.  
  
“Then why do you have to go?” Andy asked, confused.  
  
Were they really having this conversation? Was Andy dreaming? She hopped she wasn’t dreaming. She had to hold herself back from pinching herself to make sure.

“You don’t understand. You _can’t_ understand.. _._ I hope you never do.” Miranda said with an unreadable meaning in her cold eyes. What did she mean? She squeezed Andy’s hand in her own before pulling back and walking out the studio door without looking back.

Andy stood frozen, trying to process what had just happened for a second before snapping out of it and hurrying after Miranda. She caught up to her in the hall way. She had to make her stay. If she left now, she wouldn’t come back. That would be unacceptable.

Miranda was about to turn around to tell her something, when Andy slipped on the hardwood floor. Miranda caught her in her arms trying to prevent her fall. But Andy was heavier than Miranda expected and they tumbled over onto the floor despite both their efforts.

Andy caught herself on her hands and knees on top of Miranda. Both women gasped. Andy and Miranda’s faces were barely an inch apart.

To Andy’s shock it was Miranda who closed the distance. Andy stood stock still as Miranda pressed her trembling lips against Andy’s. Andy’s mind went blank for a second. Miranda's lips were warm and soft, her lips barely moving against her own.

Miranda was kissing her. _Miranda_ was kissing her.

She brushed her mouth over Andy's just once more, so softly before pulling back.

Andy was sure she looked utterly and completely stunned.

“I should not have done that.” Miranda murmured. Andy could tell she was pained by that fact. Her eyes were glazed and her breathing was uneven. Both women were blushing fiercely. Miranda’s mouth was still so close to Andy’s own and oh, how she wanted to lean in and return the favor.

She almost did but Miranda saw what she wanted to do and said, “No. Please don’t. I—”

Miranda was begging her not to kiss her. Dear God, what had Andy done in a past life to deserve such torture? But she’d promised. She’d promised Miranda she wouldn’t if touch her if Miranda asked her not to.

Andy wasn’t sure she could keep her promise if they stayed so close to each other. And besides the floor was no place for a pregnant woman. Thank goodness Miranda had caught her and prevented them from falling too hard. It had barely felt like a fall at all. Andy shuddered to think of what could have happened if Miranda hadn’t caught her. She stood up slowly and then offered her hand to Miranda who declined the offer and stood up slowly by herself.  
  
“You should stop wearing heels.” Miranda said once they were both standing.  
  
Andy looked at her incredulously, this coming from the editor of a fashion magazine. Andy chuckled. Miranda pursed her lips. Oh. She was serious. Well she did have a point.  
  
“Yeah, I probably should. It’s been a while since I’ve done this. I guess I’m a bit rusty.” Andy tried to joke.  
  
Miranda went towards the closet and took out her own coat and put it on before turning back to look at Andy.

“What was his name? Your son?” Miranda surprised Andy by asking. Would this woman every stop surprising her? Andy was leaning towards the answer being ‘no.’

“Ethan.” She murmured. “His name was Ethan. He was a lovely child.” She didn't know why she was telling Miranda this, nor did she know why Miranda was asking. Sheer curiosity or something else? Who knew? Certainly not Andy.

“How long has it been since…?”

“It was over two years ago now. Almost three now.” Andy replied tersely.

Miranda sighed. Andy shut her eyes. Then she opened them.

Miranda was watching her closely, as though she were looking for something although Andy had no clue what that might be.

“We can’t do this again.” Miranda murmured.

“No. We _shouldn’t_. That’s not the same thing as we _can’t_.” Andy replied trying not appear to pathetically hopeful. She was certain she was failing miserably.

“Mmm,” Miranda said, and added, “Isn’t it? In any case I should go.”   
  
“Will you come back? Sunday?” Andy asked. She was desperate to know the answer. Miranda paused in the open door frame and barely looked over her shoulder.   
  
“I don’t know.” She whispered. “Goodbye Andrea.”

She left the apartment and swiftly headed down the corridor towards the elevator. Andy watched her go until she turned a corner and disappeared from her sight.

Then, Andy slowly shut the door and ground her teeth together.

The words, _‘I don’t know.’_ were still ringing in Andy’s ears.

She hoped with every fiber of her being Miranda would return. Andy had no idea what she was getting herself into. Not a clue. She had no idea where this _thing_ could possibly go but she still had hope. She had to.

* * *

 

Andy held her breath as the cold cream smeared across her abdomen was smeared some more by the ultrasound machine. The image in black and white on the screen moved and Andy felt her nose burn with the tears she was holding back.

“It’s a girl.” The tech said smiling indulgently at Andy.

Andy had to consciously stop herself from sagging back into the chair with relief. As it was, she shut her eyes and let out a relieved sigh, before looking up and smiling back at the tech. A girl. Thank God. Andy wasn’t sure what she would have done had it been another boy.

Surely the gender difference would prevent her from constantly comparing her children…Right? Surely…Andy frowned at her own thoughts. She hopped it would. She didn’t want the past to affect this child’s happiness. That was the last thing she wanted.

“Something wrong?” The tech asked, seeing her expression.

“No. I’m fine.” Andy murmured. “Is that all for today?” They’d run some tests and her OBGYN had given her a basic update on what to expect and what she should be doing. She tried not to think of the last time she’d done this. Of course, she failed and the memories came anyways. When they told her and Henry that it would be a boy, when Henry had grinned at Andy with such a thrilled childish expression that Andy had to pinch his cheek for being such a kid. When they’d held their breaths, waiting to find out…oh God.

Andy covered her eyes with her hand for a second, fighting off the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She couldn’t afford to be emotional right now.

“Yes. Please make sure to set up your appointments at the reception before you go.” The woman named Nancy said. “Oh, and would you like us to print the picture on the ultra sound?”

“Y-yes. Please.” Andy managed. She still had Ethan’s ultrasound picture in a frame in the nursery. Come to think of it, she really had to get on the renovations in the nursery before the baby arrived…before _she_ arrives. Andy supposed she should say, ‘she’ now that she knew it was a girl.

“I’ll be right back with your picture for you.” Nancy said still grinning widely. Did that woman ever stop smiling? Andy wondered, not very kindly. She bit back a chuckle. She placed a hand on her stomach and murmured, “A girl huh?” She smiled softly. “ _A girl_.” She murmured, awed by the prospect.

 _‘What will Henry say, when I tell him?’_ Andy wondered. She could honestly say she had no clue. Henry could be predictable in most matters but, this was not ‘most matters’. This was their second child. And it— _she,_ was a girl.

What would Miranda say? Andy supposed she might say any number of different things, depending on what kind of situation they were in when she found out.

If they were around others it would surely be some kind of boring congratulations, if they were alone, she might ask Andy what she was thinking about and if she was ok with the baby being a girl. Or she might just say something inane whether they were alone or not. Miranda was the most unpredictable person Andy had ever met.  
   
 

* * *

 

The sound of cars rushing around on the asphalt outside the building could be heard, along with the telltale sounds of the city during a busy work days. Andy had been at the meeting with her lawyers since early this morning. It was now past noon and they were still arguing the finer points of their divorce issues.

“The prenup we both signed before committing to this marriage states that should either one cheat and the other wish for a divorce, it will be granted and the one who cheated will be removed from my father’s will and have no further part in the company. You can keep all the money and holdings you currently have, except for what is still part of the company. But you know that already Henry.” Andy said to him from across the boardroom table. “As for the child, you can have visitation rights but I will have sole custody”

Her lawyer, Kate Franklin, continued for her, “The security cameras in the building show Ms. Weiss coming and leaving at the times Andy has claimed she was there and it shows Ms. Weiss leaving clearly upset and _half dressed._ Surely you aren’t going to deny what the camera clearly shows?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Lily and I were never at the apartment.” Henry said, trying to give a charming smile to Andy and her lawyer and failing quite miserably. Andy suppressed a shudder. Her lawyer eyed her then.

“Oh really?” Kate said with a predatory smirk, “We have witnesses who claim to have seen you go in and out of the building, as well as people who can testify that you were not at work during that time, having claimed sudden illness and gone home. And Lily Weiss wasn’t at the gallery either and we have witness to prove it. _At the same time. On the same day._ And the incriminating emails on _both_ your company email accounts certainly won’t help your case.”

Andy knew her lawyer was good at playing this game. She’d hoped Henry would go quietly, that he’d not drag out what had been coming for a long time now.

“So what? You still only have circumstantial evidence!” Henry’s lawyer barked. He was clearly worried about his client now.

“Actually,” Andy’s lawyer’s smirk widened further. She looked just like a shark who’d smelled blood and was going in for the kill, Andy mused. “The maid who cleaned the bedroom took the sheets Andy claims to have seen Mr. Goldman and Miss Weiss having sex on and put them in a plastic air tight bag. It is admissible as evidence. DNA should be able to confirm this. My client knew she’d be better to keep the physical evidence, just in case.”

Henry gapped at her, disbelieving that she’d even be capable of thinking of such a thing.

“My father taught me how to play this game too Henry. Or did you forget that Iused to run the company before Ethan was born?” Andy murmured. Her eyes were hard as flint.

Andy watched, almost sadistically pleased, as Henry mashed his teeth together in an effort not to curse her out publicly for this.

“This meeting is over.” Henry growled. Kate tried to protest but Andy put a hand on her forearm. Andy nodded. The older woman nodded back. Ok. It was over. For today. Andy was tired. The animosity in the room certainly wasn’t good for the baby.

Henry stormed out of the room with his lawyer trailing behind him. The boardroom door slammed behind them.

“Hmph,” Andy looked at her lawyer and said, “Well. I think that went well don’t you?”

Andy’s lawyer chuckled and shook her head at her client’s unexpected backbone

Andy still had one or two cats in the bag, though she had pulled out the main guns. She stood up and picked up the papers she’d brought with her. Kate picked up her own case files and led the way out of the boardroom.

Andy and Kate walked into the elevator and watched as the doors dinged shut behind them.

“Make sure to get some serious protection for the witnesses. Thank them profusely for me will you? Oh and make sure to have that evidence somewhere far away and hidden where Henry’s people won’t be able to get to it. Like say, a public bank vault? Yes I think that might work. You know how this works by now don’t you?” Andy said to her.

“Yes of course Andy. Don’t worry. The firm will protect your interests above all else. You’re paying us well enough that it’s in our best interest.” Kate said, suppressing another smirk.

Yes she was paying them a great deal of money but Andy thought it was best that Kate didn’t know the other things which bound the firm to her and the company. Certain incriminating items of evidence which Andy and Goldman Sachs and co. was in possession of. Well, Andy supposed it was best to be protected on all fronts. Her father always said _‘Be prepared for everything. Always plan for the worst.’_

She chuckled to herself. Kate looked at her curiously.

“Oh, nothing.” Andy said still smiling.

She exited the elevator with Kate leading the way to the town car which would take her home. Kate said, “See you at the next meeting Mrs. Sachs Goldman.”

“Kate, please I’ve known you since I was a teenager. Call me Andy.”

“Alright. Andy. Take care of yourself.” Kate said, with a hesitant smile. Andy could tell she’d surprised her. Kate had been the family lawyer for years now and still Andy knew Kate didn’t really understand just how much she was, ‘her father’s daughter’.

Andy smiled back pleasantly and nodded.

Kate slid the town car’s door shut. Andy sat quietly on the ride back to her apartment building.

She sighed. She felt the baby move and touched her stomach gently. Henry hadn’t said anything about the child, but she knew him well enough to bet that he might try to take the child from her.

The baby squirmed again.

“Don’t worry baby. Nobody is going to take you away from me.” Andy murmured reassuringly. She was really quite tired out from the meeting. And Miranda had been on her mind for the last 24 hours straight. After what had happened during their last session…she really didn’t know what would happen next.

She watched the buildings fly by as the car moved through the city. It was grey and cloudy again today, but it wasn’t raining.  
  
Andy knew this was just the calm before the storm.

  
-To be continued-


	9. Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

_“Betrayals during war are childlike compared with our betrayals during peace. New lovers are nervous and tender, but smash everything. For the heart is an organ of fire.”_ – Michael Ondaatje

 

What had begun as a smattering of the rain on the window pane was now a real down pour. Outside, thunder ground against the clouds like a mortar and pestle, trying to crack the sky open even wider to allow more rain to fall.

 _‘She’s late…’_ Andy thought dejectedly, _‘She’s never late.'_

Andy had been on edge all day, waiting for a call from Emily to tell her that Miranda was occupied with something far more important and not to expect her till another day….but that call had never come.

She’d spent the greater part of the day replaying the events of last Thursday in her mind, over and over again like a broken record.

 _‘Will she come?’_ That maddening question had plagued Andy since their last session and the waiting to find out had become nearly unbearable. It spawned multiple scenarios in Andy’s over active imagination, in which Miranda came, or did not, nearly all of which ended badly and those that did not, seemed unrealistic at best.

It was now 20 minutes later than their agreed upon 5:30pm. Damn it. Andy stared at the phone on the counter, almost willing it to ring, to give her any sign or explanation for Miranda’s lack of appearance.

_‘Miranda, where are you?’_

Andy sighed and placed her head in her hands. The baby kicked then, remind her mother that being sad was not a good thing.

 _‘I’m sorry baby. I’m trying not to be sad, I promise.’_ Andy thought to her daughter. The baby continued to move about for a solid five minutes, as though she were as restless as her mother felt.

Andy stood up and rubbed the palm of her hand under her eyes, pushing away the beginning of tears that had no right to exist. What right did Andy have to ask Miranda to risk everything for something that was as substantial as smoke?

She made herself a cup of buckwheat tea only realizing after taking the first sip that it hadn’t been such a good idea.

It reminded her of Miranda.

She put the cup down a bit too roughly on the counter with shaky hands. The tea spattered over the edge of the cup and onto the counter. It touched her fingers and she hissed at the burning sensation spreading on her skin.

She grabbed a towel and cleaned the mess, before pouring the remnants of the tea into the sink.

She leaned against the counter, and shut her eyes. She took a shuddering breath.

“God…” Andy murmured.

She bit her bottom lip and looked out the window at the already dark sky with its inky grey clouds spreading over the city like a blanket. Winter would arrive in a few weeks and the biting cold along with it.

She sat down on the stool and closed her eyes again.

Miranda’s parting words were stuck in her mind. _‘I don’t know…’_ echoed behind Andy’s shut eyes, ricocheting off the walls of her mind like a bullet in a metal box. The noise seemed deafening to her, even though she knew her flat was silent. _‘Goodbye Andrea.’_

Why had she said ‘goodbye’ and not something else, something less permanent sounding? Had she meant it? Andy checked the time again. It was nearing 6:15pm. She was either very, very late or… she wasn’t coming.

Andy stood up again and wandered into her studio. She pulled off the tarp covering the portrait of Miranda’s ‘empathetic’ expression and then sat in the armchair opposite to it.

“You’re not coming are you?” She murmured to the painting. Of course, she received no reply.

Suddenly she felt like burning the damn thing. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t Miranda. It was just a paltry imitation trying to be something it could never be.

She wanted to destroy it. To make it burn for its endless list of inadequacies.

 _‘No…_ _Don’t. That would be pointless so just...I—’_ Miranda’s protest at her initial suggestion that she get rid of it, rang in her memory and she groaned.

‘ _Damn it.’_ She thought.

Miranda’d asked her not to. And because of that simple plea, maybe one Miranda didn’t entirely mean, Andy would exercise self-control and deny herself the satisfaction of the painting’s removal from existence.

Andy checked the time again and sighed.

What she wouldn’t give for a damned good glass of bourbon in that instant. But of course, she couldn’t. She pressed a hand to her now obvious baby bump.

“She’s not coming.”

This time, it wasn’t a rhetorical question but instead, an affirmation of a painful truth. Miranda had decided that whatever they were becoming was not worth the risk. She’d decided that _Andy_ wasn’t worth the risk.

Andy was a practical woman. In fact she prided herself on her pragmatism in most matters. She understood what she supposed Miranda’s reasoning must be. She understood it…but it still hurt like hell to think of Miranda never kissing her again.

Andy felt her nose burn and the tears pooled. She drew a shaky breath and bit back a whimper.

 _‘Pathetic, Sachs. Pull yourself together.’_ She growled at herself internally.

Her phone rang and caller ID informed her that it was Kate Franklin, her lawyer, calling. She let it go to voice mail.

“Andy, the media has caught wind of the divorce. If you’re there, pick up. Please. It’s important that we think of a plan to stave off the paparazzi shit-storm that’s coming…Andy…” Kate sighed heavily. “Call me back as soon as you get this.”

Andy rolled her eyes. Of course the paparazzi would enjoy her divorce. She and her husband were rich and influential figures in the public eye. It would be like handing a thick steak to a starving pack of dogs.

She’d have to call Kate back…just not right now. Not tonight. There wasn’t much to do except possibly release an official statement and try to keep the child out of it.

And she would. Just, not tonight.

Andy went to pick up her sketch pad. She quickly flipped to a blank page. Her hand began to draw as if of its own accord a face which was altogether too familiar. After about an hour, her hand began to ache and she looked at exactly who it was she’d been drawing.

On the page, there was a portrait of Miranda looking away from the viewer, on the ground, head turned to the left, eyes cast down, and an annoyed set to the shape of her mouth. But her eyes spoke of silent pain. Her hair was tousled, splayed on the ground behind her, and her neck was exposed.

This was what Miranda had looked like under Andy when they had fallen to the ground last Thursday.

And saw the tear hit the page before she really realized she’d started crying. She tossed the sketch pad aside and huffed angrily at her own inability to control her emotions better. Whether or not she was pregnant, this was getting to be ridiculous.

Andy went to her bedroom, picked up her copy of the _Peaches for Monsieur le Curé_ and forcefully immersed herself into the story, desperate to feel the oblivion of distraction even for a few fleeting hours.

 

* * *

 

Andy had tried to call Miranda so many times that she’d lost count. She’d even gone to the Runway offices and requested a meeting only to be denied completely. Even Emily had made a remark on how strange it was for Miranda to cut off all forms of contact so suddenly. Andy was no longer sad. She was livid.

Not a word. Not one, in almost a month now.

No explanation whatsoever, no excuses, _no nothing._

As if Andy didn’t deserve the simple curtesy of those feeble means of being put off. Like she wasn’t even worth that effort. It made Andy’s hackles rise just thinking about it.

It was as though Miranda Priestly had never even met A.S Goldman and sat in her studio for hour after hour for a portrait she didn’t really care about.

 _‘Damn that infuriating woman.’_ Andy thought as she sketched said woman’s face for the ‘n’th time. A different expression, a different angle of the face, a new aspect of her facial structure to be discovered and explored.

Andy imagined this must be what map makers felt like in the centuries past, recreating from memory inaccurate reproductions of places they had seen. And no matter how much they tried, nothing could compare to the real thing.

But…her sketches, no matter how inaccurate, were the only thing that sustained her beyond the memories of Miranda’s presence.

In the last month, Andy had secured Henry’s departure from the company with a dignified resignation, and his severance from her father’s will. Now all that was left was the issue of the daughter they would have in a few months.

Andy feared that at the next meeting, things would get messy. She still had a few aces to play. But they weren’t ones she wanted to use unless absolutely necessary.

The paparazzi had become a nuisance in the last few weeks. Sometimes following Andy to and from the gallery, sometimes staking out her apartment or Henry’s. Some tiny part of Andy’s brain was glad that Miranda wasn’t coming over once a week anymore or the tabloids might have enjoyed a juicy lie about them far too much for Andy to countenance.

The baby turned inside of her and she gasped slightly at the movement. She pressed a hand to her stomach which was becoming more pronounced by the day, or so it seemed to Andy.

She’d been meeting with her personal trainer twice a week to keep the weight she was gaining to a reasonable amount. Andy could never have been called ‘model-thin’ but she was very health conscious and made sure she ate everything that was necessary for the baby’s nutritional needs.

Finally, she’d gotten around to hiring a new assistant and an art gallery administrator at the beginning of the month. Although this time, she’d hired two separate people instead of one. Olivia Blau was a young German woman, with ash blonde hair, a slight accent and a sharp wit.

She was now A.S Goldman’s personal assistant.

Andy thought the girl took a little too much pride in that fact, but she wouldn’t begrudge her that small happiness in her job situation.

Catherine Hall was a mother of two, and a seasoned gallery manager. She came highly recommended and so far she had lived up to her acclaimed dependability. Everything was running smoothly at the gallery.

This was absolutely essential seeing that as of two weeks ago, Andy had been re-instated as temporary CEO of Goldman Sachs & Co.

She was muddling along through the mountains of paper work and it certainly kept her busy. Andy had already scouted a promising possible replacement for Henry as acting CEO in her stead, although this time, she had absolutely no intention of marrying the man.

Her longtime friend and colleague Douglas Cooper was up for consideration by the board this coming week. Andy had been assured she’d know their decision by Friday at the latest.

Andy was pushing for him quite hard with her influence within the company. He was very capable and charming…the only hiccup was the fact that he was most definitely gay. And that being the case it certainly made the older members of the board hesitant to allow him to take the helm of the company.

Andy scoffed at them as she thought of their initial outraged response at her proposing ‘such a man’. She’d nearly fired the man who’d said that simply for speaking the words pejoratively.

Andy’s hand continued to fly over the page that had once been blank, and was now filling with it with the image of a certain fashion magazine editor. In this portrait she was smirking. At what, not even Andy could really say.

Andy had never really managed to decipher the mystery that was Miranda Priestly when they’d met in the flesh.

Why then, should a portrait be any different?

 

* * *

 

  
  
Andy rubbed the pads of her fingers against the bridge of her nose, pinching slightly. She wished this insistent headache would just leave her alone but alas, no such luck.

She sighed heavily, looking around the room and suddenly it struck her that every single person in this room might possibly be just as bored as she was. She watched an elderly gentlemen yawn from across the round table as they listened to the man at the podium drone on with an almost pathetically false enthusiasm. Maybe it was because he knew that this was an endless circle of asking again and again for help. It was depressing but necessary.

The charity function involved a great cause, which was why Andy had decided it would be best to attend despite the fact that many a whisper or a glance would be directed at her with disapproval.

It was widely known that she’d been the one to instigate the divorce after all. That had stamped her as on the same level as the wicked witch of the west. Sadly enough for her, there were no red slippers that could save her.

No, if there were any red slippers to be found today, it would be for the Help Our Youths charity organisation which in this instance was asking for donations of the more concrete form.

Clothes, help promoting their cause, food donations, money in some cases but not as often as one might have thought. This charity organisation was taking the approach Andy imagined an emergency supply team might, when heading into an area that had suffered a disaster. A tornado, an earthquake or a tsunami perhaps.

Regardless, they had an almost infectious pragmatic approach, with much less guilt tripping involved than the average run of the mille genre. It wasn’t that they were all that different from other organisations, but for some reason Andy enjoyed the speech of the representative more than she’d expected to and had signed all the necessary paper work to offer whatever help the company could offer within a reasonable limit of course.

That still didn’t prevent her from the usual curse of boredom brought on by the standard endless thanks and speeches and plastered on smiles.

She stifled a yawn. If only Douglas hadn’t been forced to cancel at the last minute on her. He had been supposed to attend this function as a sort of united front demonstration.

Andy knew all too well that if the sharks thought her company was week they’d go for the underbelly and rip her father’s company apart. Douglas, bless him had been wonderfully supportive of every suggestion Andy had made, now that the board had finally given in to Andy’s will and made him acting CEO.

Andy still had her Veto power but Douglas was the one to sign the papers. Douglas kept her in the loop with frequent reports that Andy read and approved of but she made sure to stay out of anything too in depth.

The gallery kept her busy. She’d begun doing long distance portraits again. Small portraits of people who would send her their picture in a portrait like format and she would paint them and they would pay her for the painting. The paintings came with a stipulation that Andy would be allowed to take her time painting them, and that once they were finished they would hang in the gallery for a month long exposition.

The painting themselves were of next to no importance to Andy other than that they allowed her to turn her brain off for a few hours. They allowed her to loose herself in her artist’s maze, following the lines of people’s faces to find herself there and back again. Thank God or she’d have gone mad for sure.

It had been two months since she’d last had a session with… _her._

Andy had given up.

She’d stopped calling. She’d stopped trying to see her… she even stopped drawing her.

That last had taken ages to achieve…mostly.

Sometimes she’d still find herself doodling and end up drawing those eyes of hers. It really was unfair. Miranda could leave her behind like nothing but Andy was stuck trying to escape the grips of her own memory. Again.

She placed her palm on her baby bump and let her mind drift back to the man at the podium once the applause started sounding around them.

The event had been planned in such a way that the customary speeches would begin the evening and that the guests would be able to mingle in the main hall afterwards, where champagne and small pretentious appetizers would be served on expensive china plates. And then, once the guests had had a chance to mingle, supper would be served.

The food would be made by Alain Ducasse and for once, the left overs of whatever was not eaten would be given to a youth shelter sponsored by the charity.

After an evening of feeble attempts at relieving the rich of their supposed debt to society everyone would head home tired and slightly drunk to shed their ridiculously expensive clothes and fall into bed till whenever the world would demand their attentions once again.

But first, the mandatory mingling of overpriced cologne and of borderline style faux-pas’ lay ahead of Andy for the next hour or so.

Andy shut her eyes for a brief moment before standing up along with the other sponsors at the event.

The heard moved slowly into the main hall to chat and network for a while. Andy stifled a groan. Her heels were becoming ever more unforgiving with every day. She felt her baby shift around a bit and she smiled to herself. Sore feet be damned. She’d do it a thousand times over for this little one.

Then there was a bit of a shuffling of feet and the rustle of fabric of the heavy dresses worn at the event. The sounds of movement and murmurs signaled the arrival of someone who was no doubt important but also, fashionably late.

A few quiet gasps and unsubtle coughs were heard in the crowd. Andy had her back to the hall’s entrance.

The whispers were all saying one name. They moved through the crowd like a wave.

Miranda Priestly was late. She was never late. Something must have detained her.

She shut her eyes and held her breathe. Oh God. She should have realised, should have known… but she’d been so distracted by work and the baby lately…Goddamnit.

Andy did not turn around. She didn’t know that she would be able to think rationally if she did.

She heard a few people go up to greet Miranda rather more loudly than necessary but they were like a cast acting in a play, covering up one of the actors mistakes, showing the crowd that everything was fine.

Andy walked slowly, carefully through the crowd. At nearly 8 months pregnant, she was ungainly at the best of times. And paranoid. She was terrified of slipping or falling. Two inch heels or no, she still walked cautiously. Especially now that her legs were shaking.

She managed to get to find someone she knew from their connection to the company. Jonathan Scarsbourg smiled and greeted her warmly. Too warmly. She smiled back coldly.

Andy knew what she had to do. She knew that deviating from the script for the evening would not be a welcome occurrence in the small world of the rich and safe people surrounding her.

She had to pretend that everything was absolutely fine.

She smiled at a bland joke the gentlemen she was speaking to made.

They chatted for a while longer, until Tilda McNairy walked over to have a word with her manager about some idea the people she’d been speaking to had come up with.

She heard the unmistakable sound of Miranda’s voice somewhere behind her. Had she noticed her? Andy hoped she hadn’t. That wouldn’t make things any easier for either of them.

Miranda was in the same room as her.

If there was a God, he was a cruel bastard for doing this to her.

“Andrea Sachs Goldman!” An enthusiastic voice called behind. She flinched a bit but quickly spun around with a too wide smile on her lips. Nigel Kipling came through the crowd towards her and she held onto the smile but none the less quirked an eyebrow. What the hell did want to speak to her for? He was part of Miranda’s inner circle if Andy remembered correctly.

“We haven’t seen you at one of these shindigs in a dog’s age! How have you been? And how’s the bun in the oven doing?”

“I’ve been…well enough Nigel, thank you. And yourself how are you? I hear there are big plans for a Men’s Runway.” She murmured the last part in a false confidant whisper. She’d heard it from Douglas when he’d been talking to her about the last event he’d attended in place as acting CEO.

“Oh really? Well. Word does get around fast then doesn’t it.” He smirked completely self-satisfied with himself. “I heard, through the grapevine that you are not going to be Mrs. Sachs-Goldman for much longer? Is that true?”

Andy smiled at him letting her annoyance show in her smile. He had no right to ask such things. But, people were no doubt listening. An answer was therefore expected. He knew that, she knew that. Damn him.

This evening was turning into enough of a cluster-fuck without his help.

“Yes, Henry and I are divorcing.” she said.

“With a baby on the way, that must be very stressful.”

How dare he? How dare he bring her child into this? Oh the sheer insolence of this man. But she had to stay cool under fire. That was of the utmost importance.

She smiled again and hummed non-committal.

“Can I ask? Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl yet?”

Andy sighed. This man just didn’t know when to throw in the towel did he? Didn’t he realise she wanted nothing more than to get away from him?

“A girl.” She smiled, this time the motion felt a smidge more sincere.

“A girl!” he gushed, “Oh how lovely! Have you thought of any names yet?”

“No, not yet.” She didn’t dare. That would imply that it was something decidedly permanent when in truth it was just the shadow of a dangerous hope.

“How far along are you now?”

“About 8 months.”

“Wonderful. Just wonderful.” He enthused. He turned to his left and without warning placed his hand in the crook of her elbow and tugged her along with him through the crowd as though they were the best of friends.

 _‘What the in God’s name is this man playing at?’_ Andy wondered, grinding her teeth together.

“You should mingle some more my dear. You’re bound to need friends in the coming months, I’m sure.”

What the hell did that mean? Was he trying to warn her? About what? The backlash from the divorce? Something else entirely? These little games of his were getting on Andy’s last nerve.

Suddenly Andy saw towards which group of people he was leading them too. Oh God. Oh Dear God no.

But it was too late. He had signaled their approach. Andy saw Miranda’s head turn, watched the recognition flicker in her eyes, say the corners of her lips tighten to hold her fake smile.

“Miranda, you know Andrea of course.” Nigel said, “Everybody else, this is Andrea Sachs-Goldman. By the way how is that portrait of yours coming along Miranda?”

If Andy didn’t know any better, she’d be wondering if Miranda wasn’t about to kill Nigel where he stood. Andy was inclined to want to help her in that course of action. But a question had been asked and Miranda was hesitant to answer it.

Andy found her voice then, “I asked Miranda if we could put it on hiatus until the divorce proceedings are over. I’ve been incredibly busy, you see.”

“Oh yes of course.” Nigel smiled with that wonderfully unpleasant smirk of his. He turned to his right and said, “Oh Neil! Where have you been hiding? I was hoping to catch you today.”

With a few words and smiles of goodbye he was gone, off to another circle of people. Leaving Andy and Miranda alone, except for her assistants.

Andy gathered all her courage and finally looked Miranda in the face. She knew what had to be done. There had to be some kind of closure. Some kind of denouement to this… _thing_ between them. One way or another. Andy deserved explanations.

“We need to talk.” Andy murmured. Her voice was trembling. She couldn’t help it. She was practically shaking with the emotions boiling inside of her.

“Isn’t that what we are doing?” Miranda asked.

“Don’t play coy, you know exactly what I mean. Meet me in the south corridor in 5 minutes, or I will come back out here and we will _talk_ out here. I don’t think either of us wants that.” Andy practically hissed. Suddenly, all the anger, all the betrayal, all the indignation she’d felt at Miranda’s rejection came to the forefront of her mind.

“Are you threatening me _Andrea?_ ” Miranda asked, saying her name aloud for the first time in months. Andy shivered but didn’t pause, “Only if you don’t come. If you do, then there is no need for ugly threats is there?”

Miranda didn’t reply. Andy could tell Miranda was bordering on absolutely livid. Good. Maybe she could get an inkling of what Andy had been feeling for the last two months.

Andy spun around and headed for the corridor she’d spoken about. Andy could feel the breath in her chest coming raggedly but still quietly enough to not be noticed. The adrenaline rush was getting to her.

Someone tried to talk to her on the way but she used the pregnancy as an excuse to escape to the loo. The venue itself was one that was frequently used for just such Charity functions. Andy had been here many times before but in the past it had been as Henry’s date.  

Andy sighed and sat down on a bench in the deserted hallway. The noise from the main hall could still be heard. It was the chatter of people far too satisfied with their lot in life to find it in themselves to do much more than donate to charities like this once in a while, and even at that, it was more to keep their good name than out of any real sense of obligation.

And then there was Miranda. The woman who’d haunted Andy’s every waking moment for the last interminable 8 weeks.

And took a deep shaky breathe. Dear God. She’d bullied Miranda into finally talking to her. Probably. Unless Miranda chose not to come and called Andy’s bluff. If there was one thing Andy would never do to Miranda, it was humiliate her publicly like her husband had the first night they’d met.

She cared too much about Miranda to do any such thing. In fact, she cared too much about Miranda period. Andy took another deep breathe.

She shut her eyes, leaned her head in her hands, and waited.

-TBC-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/n: I know. I’m evil. But to be fair I did warn you I would be slow to update. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and hopefully, I’ll be able to get the next one out to you a bit faster.)


	10. A Mother's Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy. :)

_Eyes and words are so icy_   
_Oh but she burns like rum on a fire,_   
_Hard and fast and angry as she can be,_   
_I walk my days on a wire_

\- Hozier

 

Andy heard the click of heels coming towards her and lifted her head. Miranda had decided to come after all. Andy hadn’t even been sitting there for more than a few minutes but she’d come.

“Andrea.” Miranda murmured. Her eyes were cold and hard.

“Miranda.”

Neither of them said a word for a long moment. Andy searched Miranda’s face desperately, looking for some hint of longing or remorse in Miranda’s features. She found none.

“God Miranda.” Andy breathed, “Was it really that easy?”

“What, are you—Was what easy?” she frowned, lips pursed.

“Forgetting about me.” She breathed holding a tight rein on the tears that begged to be released.

Miranda glared at her before looking away. She swallowed hard. “You don’t know what you are talking about.”

 _‘Does she feel guilty?’_ Andy wondered. Was that guilt in Miranda’s eyes? That was unlikely—but why did Andy feel bad for calling her out, if it wasn’t because she could sense Miranda’s discomfort?

“No, you’re right, I don’t know.” Andy retorted. “So tell me Miranda. Tell me why you didn’t come back.”

‘ _Tell me why you didn’t come back to me…’_ is what Andy really wanted to say. Andy bit her lip trying to stave off tears she really couldn’t afford at the moment.

“Andrea.” Miranda whispered. “ _I told you_ the last time, we can’t…”

It suddenly struck Andy that Miranda looked tired. Andy could see the darkness bellow her eyes more starkly contrasted than ever before. She wasn’t reacting with anger. Andy knew it was likely because she was so tired. Damn it, she was supposed to be angry at Miranda, not worried about her health.

“And _I told you_ that it’s not that we can’t, it’s that you feel that we shouldn’t. Did you forget that too? Was it too inconvenient for you? Was _I_ too inconvenient?” Andy snarled.

Anger… oh yes, Andy was angry now. She could feel it like a hot coal inside her chest, heating and forging her words before she let them out, like weapons, ready to rend apart tender flesh.

Miranda looked away and sighed heavily. “Believe me when I say Andrea, it would be in your best interest for you to just forget about me.”

 _‘Oh God, please don’t say that._ ’ Andy thought desperately. She watched Miranda pass a hand over her eyes. She couldn’t look at Andy directly and it was driving her mad. What was it that Miranda felt for her? Did she really care?

 _“I can’t.”_ Andy almost whimpered. “I can’t forget about you. Don’t you see Miranda?”

“Oh Andrea, don’t be ridiculous—”

“ _Ridiculous!?”_ Andrea interrupted, “Is that what you think? God Miranda, how can you even say that! Did I mean nothing to you?”

“Stop it Andrea. You’re behaving like a child.” Miranda whispered viciously.

“ _I’m_ childish? _I am?_ Oh that’s just rich! Coming from _you!_ ” Andy snarled.

“What?” Miranda asked quietly but her tone was soaked in cold fury.

“Running away from your problems is _very childish_ Miranda. You can hardly bare to look at me! You refuse to talk to me, much less see me for months and you call _me_ childish!” Andy sneered, feeling all the bitterness and sadness well up in her like an infected wound being cleaned by pouring alcohol on it. She was burning.

“You _stupid_ girl.” Miranda snarled. Her eyes flashed with anger. “You don’t know what you are talking about!”

“You keep saying that Miranda and I keep waiting for an explanation.”

Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose and huffed through her nose. She licked her lips and swallowed hard. Her eyes were cast down, lost in thought.

She went to sit on the bench Andy had been sitting on. This time it was Miranda who seemed exhausted.

“Sit.” Miranda ordered. Andy did as Miranda bid, waiting.

“What is it that you want to know?”

“Why did you decide not to come back?” she asked, trying to sound a bit calmer. She was still fuming. Miranda glanced around the hall way, clearly sorting out her own thoughts before speaking.

“I have a family, Andrea.” She murmured, now calm, almost resigned, “I have a high profile career. Andrea, when you’ve fought tooth and nail to get to where you are, risking it is the last thing you would want.”

 _“Bullshit.”_ Andy snapped.

“What?” Miranda gasped. “W-what are you—” She was going to try and deny it, Andy could see that. But Andy was nothing if not adept at smelling bullshit and this was a finely veiled attempt at putting her off the scent. Miranda was lying…or at least, not being completely honest and Andy wanted to find out why.

“I said, _bullshit._ There is something more. Something you’re not telling me.”

“Andrea, for goodness sake don’t be rid—”

“I am not being ridiculous Miranda so don’t even try to—” Andy nearly flew into a rage again, but she felt the baby kick and took a few deep breaths instead. She put a steadying hand on her middle. She had to stop being so angry. It wasn’t good for the baby.

After a moment when she felt a bit more relaxed she said in a cold voice, “I’m not being ridiculous. Even if this _—us—_ did somehow become public knowledge, you and I both know you would be able to fight off the people trying to discredit you or oust you. If I know anything about being a woman in power, it’s that we always, always have safety nets.” Andy saw that Miranda was listening intently to what she was saying but was obviously none-too pleased to hear the truth in Andy’s words.

“You aren’t worried about losing your career. As for your family, the girls aren’t babies and if they are the modern young ladies I know you’ve raised them to be, they wouldn’t have that many objections. Now, Stephen—”

Andy saw Miranda flinch a bit. What was that about? She paused, searching Miranda’s face a moment longer before continuing, “Stephen on the other hand is a different matter entirely…you’ve said it before, you don’t love him.”

Miranda who had remained silent until then finally said, “Are you quite finished digging through my motives like some kind of amateur detective? Because if you are, this conversation is over.” She stood and began to walk back down the hallway.

Andy watched her leaving for a second, incredulous. She was running away again. It was terribly out of character for her.

What on earth could make Miranda Priestly run away, not once but twice?

“Oh no it’s not.”

Andy quickly caught up to her and gripped her forearm before pressing her into the nearest wall.

Andy’s face was barely a breath away from Miranda’s.

Miranda didn’t try to push her away. She stayed pressed against the wall, letting Andy hold her there. Andy searched Miranda’s face and eyes, hoping to find more clues as to what could possibly be making Miranda push her away so desperately? Andy only saw outrage and surprise in those captivating eyes of hers.

“Andrea, just what do you think you are doing?” she whispered furiously.

“Trying to stop you from running away again.” Andy said. Miranda gasped softly.

Andy leaned in slowly, giving Miranda the chance to turn away, to tell her no, but she did neither. She closed her eyes and Andy felt her tremble.

Andy kissed her, pressing her lips against Miranda’s hesitantly. Then her whole body burst into flames. She lingered on Miranda’s bottom lip. She felt Miranda begin to kiss her back just as gently.

Andy couldn’t get enough. She wanted to kiss Miranda for hours but she knew that they had to stop. Someone would see, someone would come find them. She pulled back, feeling the ache keenly as she did so.

“Oh.” Miranda gasped as Andy pulled away.

Miranda was shivering, her breathing was fast and uneven. Her blush had spread all over her neck and shoulders. Her eyes were shut and she was holding onto Andy’s shoulders tightly.

Andy groaned and buried her face in the curve of Miranda's throat.

_“God, Miranda.”_

Miranda sighed in her ear. Andy gasped and moved downward, kissing her throat, and Miranda dug her nails into Andy's shoulders as she made soft noises, trying not to be loud.

And then, Miranda’s hands began to push her away, and she whimpered, “No, not here… we can’t…” She said. “Someone will see…”

That made Andy stop short. She pulled away, panting and desperate for more. Miranda’s eyes were open and glazed.

Her lipstick was smeared in such a way to let anyone who saw it know what she had been doing only moments ago. Andy was sure she must look something similar. They needed to fix their appearances before they could return to the hall.

Dinner would start soon and their mutual absence would be noticed.

Andy led her down the corridor to the women’s bathroom. Miranda caught sight of their appearance in the mirror and she raised her eyebrows and hmph’d at her reflection. Andy agreed with Miranda’s assessment. They were a bit of a mess.

Andy pulled out some Kleenex and her own compact, makeup brush and lipstick from her clutch and began cleaning up the mess they’d made. Miranda on the other hand did not have anything in her clutch to clean the lipstick off. Andy sighed and handed her some tissue and continued reapplying her foundation and then swiftly put on a fresh coat a lipstick.

She fiddled with her hair quickly, pushing back a few rebellious strands. She watched Miranda do the same in the mirror beside her and in a few minutes they looked almost exactly as they had before they had kissed.

“Why were you late?” Andy asked suddenly curious. Miranda Priestly was never late.

“Cassidy had a fever.” Miranda replied too quickly.

“Oh really?” Andy asked. “How high was it? Did you go to the doctor to get antibiotics? Is a throat infection? Ears? Has she been drinking enough water?”

Miranda was a mother. If her daughter was sick, she would know the answer to most if not all these questions. Andy watched Miranda blanch as Andy listed the questions. Andy had caught her in her own web.

“I left her with the nanny.” Miranda replied evasively.

“You’re lying again Miranda.”

Miranda gapped at her, outrage creasing her forehead and she opened her mouth to growl out some sharp retort but Andy interrupted.

“Oh don’t look at me like that. I’ve been a mother too remember?” Andy smiled bitterly. “If one of your daughters had been sick, this late at night, I doubt that you would have left her side. Nannies need to go home too after all.” She said. “No. I don’t think Cassidy is sick. I think, something else happened. Something that involves Stephen.”

Miranda flinched at the name.

“I’m right aren’t I?”

Miranda looked away from Andy, her jaw tightly clenched, and her expression, tensed for an attack.

“You don’t have to lie to me Miranda.” Andy murmured, saddened that Miranda felt the need to in the first place. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“Stop Andrea.” Miranda whispered, “If you truly care about me, you will stop this now.”

“I can’t.” Andy replied. “I can’t stop. I know you’re in pain and it just tears me apart to see it and not at least try to help you. But you have to trust me Miranda.”

“It’s not worth the risk.” She murmured shaking her head.

“Are you sure about that?” Andy asked. “I’m a big girl Miranda. I can take care of myself.”

“It’s not you I’m wor—” Miranda ground her teeth together, and looked away. “That’s beside the point.”

“Who are you worried about Miranda?” She asked. She knew Miranda was not worried about herself, or her career. No, this was something much more complicated.

Andy watched Miranda trying to compose herself, trying to hide again but this time there was nowhere to run.

Miranda leaned against the counter, sighed and shut her eyes. Andy reached out and wrapped her arms around Miranda’s waist, holding her in a hug.

Miranda jerked away and hissed, as though she were in pain.

Andy pulled away immediately. “Miranda, what—”

“It’s nothing. I bumped into the corner of the desk earlier today. It left a bruise. I’m fine.”

It was a weak excuse. One that sounded very fake. Miranda wasn’t looking her in the eye. Andy frowned. Why would Miranda lie? Unless she had something to hide.

Then Andy started remembering things.

Miranda, arguing on the phone with Stephen. Miranda never mentioning Stephen in conversation unless Andy brought it up. Miranda always wearing long sleeves. Miranda being seemingly over-protective of her daughters.

Andy’s eyes widened and suddenly the pieces of the puzzle clicked together. She thought her heart might stop as all the realisations crashed down on her like a crushing wave of horror.

Why hadn’t she seen it sooner? The signs were all there…it was so obvious in retrospect. Andy had thought she’d had it bad with Henry cheating on her…this was a million times worse than that. Miranda had never answered her when Andy’d asked why she’d agreed to do the portrait if she was so uncomfortable. Now it made sense. Miranda had taken her offer to be painted as an excuse to get away from Stephen a few hours a week.

“Did...did _Stephen_ hurt you?” She asked.

Miranda’s head shot up and her eyes widened. Her expression told Andy everything she needed to know. Then Miranda’s eyes narrowed.

“Where did you get that idea?” Miranda growled.

“Am I wrong?” Andy murmured. _‘Oh God Miranda. I know I’m not wrong.’_ She thought, seeing Miranda’s anger growing by the second.

“Did you fall down and smack your little head on the pavement? Of course he didn’t hurt me. How many times must I repeat myself? I told you. I hit myself on _the corner of the desk.”_ She practically hissed the last words.

“Every time someone mentions your husband’s name you flinch.”

“That’s not true.”

“Let me see the bruise.” Andy demanded. “If a desk caused it, it should be small.”

“You’re being absurd.” Miranda snarled.

“Prove it to me, Miranda. Prove me wrong.” Andy was hoping against hope that Miranda would make sure she saw that she was wrong. “Show me the bruise.”

“We have to get back.” Miranda said, trying to find an excuse to get away.

“It will only take a minute to unzip your dress.” Andy argued. “Please Miranda. Let me—”

Miranda looked at her for a long moment.

Andy reached over, slowly, and gripped the side zipper on Miranda’s dress and pulled it down. Miranda didn’t stop her.

Andy was about to pull back the fabric when Miranda’s hand gripped hers.

Andy looked up to see Miranda looking panicked.

“Don’t do this. Please.” She murmured, her grey blue eyes begging Andy not to.

“I have to.” Andy whispered.

She pulled the material away from Miranda’s skin and saw the large purple bruises on her waist and hip. They were shaped like large hands and finger marks. Andy gasped and Miranda shut her eyes.

“Oh Miranda.” Andy felt tears sting her eyes. She was furious with Stephen. She wanted to murder him. Tear his skin off his bones bit by bit until he begged for mercy. How dare he do this to Miranda? How could Miranda have lived with him for so long? Why had she?

“Don’t you dare pity me.” Miranda hissed seeing the sadness in Andy’s expression.

“Miranda, I—” Andy was struck speechless for a moment before she said, “I don’t pity you. I just wish I could have protected you.”

“You can’t.” Miranda said, “Have you forgotten who my husband is? Stephen _Clarke._ He owns the majority of Elias-Clarke. He has friends in very high up positions...More than I do.” Miranda admitted in a pained whisper, “He could destroy me... And my girls…he could hurt _my girls_ Andrea.”

Andy took Miranda’s hands in her own. She looked Miranda dead in the eye and said, “I’m going to help you Miranda. I will find a way to get you away from Stephen if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Andrea… don’t make such foolish promises.” Miranda pulled her hands away and zipped her dress up. Andy saw the ghost of old pain swimming in her grey-blue eyes and wanted to pull Miranda to her in a hug, but didn’t dare for fear of hurting her.

“Maybe I am a fool.” Andy said. “But I am still going to do my damned best to make Stephen regrets the day he ever laid a hand on you.” Andy put all her conviction into her voice and eyes, trying to make Miranda see, she would do everything in her power to help.

“Right,” Miranda sneered. “You’re still so terribly naïve Andrea. At eight months pregnant with a company that just suffered a management upheaval, you think you can help me.” She scoffed bitterly.

“M-Miranda I—” Andy stuttered. “At least we have to try to get you away from him and then we can go from there.”

Miranda turned away from Andy and leaned her hands against the counter. She looked up in the mirror at Andy.

 _“You think I haven’t tried?”_ Miranda snarled. “You think I didn’t do everything in my power to get myself and my girls away from him as soon as this started?”

Andy gapped at her. Of course, she knew Miranda would have fought back, she was too much of a fighter to take this kind of abuse lying down.

“What happens if you try and fail, _hmm?”_ Miranda asked, “Who do you think will pay the price? My girls and I will. So just do us all a favour and forget about this, forget about me. I’ve managed to protect myself and my girls so far.”

 _“ ‘So far?’ ”_ Andy grimaced at the words. “What happens when one day, he gets carried away? What will happen when one night an ‘accident’ happens and you _die_ Miranda?”

Miranda stood silently scowling at Andy murderously.

“The girl’s father is out of the picture.” Andy continued mercilessly, “Stephen would get parental rights over them. Who would protect your girls then?”

“ _Goddamnit_ Andrea. Stop.” Miranda growled.

Andy sighed and came to lean against the counter beside Miranda. “I’m not saying that I’ll confront Stephen head on, I’m not that stupid.”

Miranda glanced at her as if to say, _‘Oh really? I’m not so sure about that.’_

Andy glared at her mildly one eyebrow raised.

“I can and will find a way to help you Miranda. But you have to let me.” Andy murmured, “Don’t ask me to stand by and watch you suffer. I couldn’t do it.”

 _‘I care about you too much.’_ Andy thought dejectedly.

Andy wanted to murder Stephen just thinking about Miranda in any kind of pain. If she thought she could get away with it, she’d hire a hitman to kill Stephen and be very happily rid of him. But life wasn’t quite that simple.

She’d have to be stealthier about it. She’d have to destroy the high horse Stephen was sitting on. She knew who she was going to have to ask a favour from. Andy pursed her lips just thinking about it.

“I—” Miranda seemed to be shocked by Andy’s determination.

“Please let me at least try.” Andy begged. She wanted more than anything to take Miranda and her daughters far away from Stephen and hide them until she could destroy him, but she knew that would be impossible. She watched Miranda dither and chew her lip before turning back around to face Andy again.

Miranda passed a hand over her eyes, as if to shut out the world for a few moments. Then she sighed, “Alright. I may have hell to pay for this, but yes, alright.”

“Thank you.” Andy breathed. Miranda nodded and glanced at her watch. Andy knew some people must have noticed that Miranda was no longer in the hall, certainly her assistants would have.

Andy saw the time. It was 9:23pm. She sighed. Her feet ached, her head ached, her back ached, she was emotionally drained and she wanted nothing more than to go home and take a warm bath. Yes, that sounded like an excellent idea.

“I’m not going to the dinner.” Andy told Miranda. She lifted one eyebrow questioningly. “I’m tired. And, I have the perfect excuse to get out of having to go to this dinner.” She patted her baby bump and smirked ironically. Miranda managed a small smile.

“I never did get the chance to ask you, is it a boy or a girl?” Miranda questioned, eyeing her curiously.

“A girl.” Andy murmured, an affectionate smile now finding its way onto her mouth.

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Andy smiled at Miranda again, hesitantly.

Both of them knew their absence must have been noticed by now. Andy reached up slowly and letting Miranda see what she intended to, she traced the backs of her fingers against Miranda’s jaw, tenderly. Miranda gasped quietly but didn’t pull away. Her skin was so soft. Andy had forgotten just how soft…She could feel Miranda’s breathing quicken again. In that moment Andy desperately wanted to kiss her again. She let her hand fall back to her side.

“I have to go.” She managed. “They’ll have noticed that I’m not there. There will be questions.”

“Use me as an excuse if you like. Blame my ‘condition’. It works for me often."

Miranda chuckled. Andy smirked. Then she thought about when she would see Miranda next and realised there was an easy way of meeting up again.

"Come back to my studio.” Andy said seemingly out of nowhere, “Finish the portrait with me.”

“What?” Miranda gasped, “But we—”

“Finish what you started Miranda.” Andy interrupted her. “And if you don’t want ‘this’,” She gestured between them, “To happen after that, it won’t. I will help you regardless.”

Miranda eyed her, and then nodded once sharply.

“You have to go to dinner. Have Emily set up an appointment with Olivia for some time next week.”

“Yes.” She replied, and licked her lips. She swallowed hard. “I’ll see you next week Andrea.”

She swept past Andy not waiting for any reply and headed back out to face the crowd who would have definitely noticed their disappearance. Andy wasn’t worried. Miranda would find some excuse or other to explain everything.

Andy leaned on the counter for a moment, inhaling the lingering smell of Miranda’s perfume.

She sighed heavily. _‘Dear God…she's the strongest woman I know... and yet this kind thing happened to her.’_ Andy thought still recovering from the shock of her discovery. Miranda had agreed to let her try to help her out of this situation. Hopefully, that meant she trusted Andy…more or less. Enough to let her try at least. And that meant a lot to Andy. She knew what it must be costing Miranda emotionally to allow her in like this.

The baby kicked and Andy sighed again. “Time to go home.” She murmured to her daughter.

 

* * *

 

 

As Andy sat in the car on the way home, she wondered how Miranda would fair, going home tonight…to Stephen. She could only hope he didn't hurt her again. She would have to move quickly to help her. Andy wondered what she would have done in Miranda’s position…with two young girls to consider…Andy couldn’t say that she knew how she would have acted. But it would likely have been something similar to what Miranda was doing. Coping, looking for a way out. Protecting her children as much as she could while bearing with everything else. At least, Andy hoped she would have been strong enough to do that.

She pulled out her cellphone and texted Kate Franklin.

 _‘Kate, call a meeting with Henry and his lawyer. I need to talk to him. _There has been a new development_  and it needs to be discussed.’_ She hit send. That would make Kate worry, but Andy really couldn't bring herself to care.

It was late and Andy did not expect a reply tonight.

Andy supressed a groan. She was going to have to explain a few things to Henry if she was going to get him to do her the favours she needed from him. And she would have to concede a few things in the divorce agreement no doubt. The next meeting was bound to be unpleasant.

But she would do it. For Miranda’s sake. For her girls.  
  
As a mother, she could only imagine the pain Miranda had lived through.

-TBC-


	11. The Beginning of The Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: I know you all hate/love me. Sorry for the long wait. Merry Christmas. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plotline. I am not making any money from this.   
> Medical disclaimer: I am trying to stay as close to reality as I can but I am not perfect and some medical facts may be inaccurate and or have been altered to fit the needs of the story.

   


_“I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible and when I leave you will understand why storms are named after people.”-_ Anonymous

  


The door swung open and in came Henry, a furious set to his mouth. Andy waited for him and his lawyer to sit down.

“Henry.” She said in greeting. This was not going to be pleasant. Andy could already tell.

“Andy.” He replied tersely. “What is this about?”

Andy turned to Kate and said, “Can you leave us for a bit? I need to speak to Henry in private.”

Henry frowned at her, bewildered.

“It’s important Henry.” She murmured. “Please.”

He sighed a nodded ‘yes.’

She nodded to Henry’s lawyer. Both lawyers left the room, despite being obviously apprehensive.

“So.” Henry said, “There has been a ‘new development’? Is that it?”

“Yes. Don’t worry, our daughter is fine.” Andy paused, “But, I have a favour to ask from you. For which I am willing to compromise on certain points in the divorce agreement.”

“A favour?” Henry barked a laugh. “You, willing to compromise? Oh that’s just _rich._ ”

“Henry—”                                                                                                                

“No, no really you have to admit this is just hilarious.” He growled sourly.

Andy glared at him and rolled her eyes.

“What could be so _dire_ that you would be willing to give in like this?” He asked incredulous. “I know you Andy. You never give in, not even an even an inch.”

“I need you to do me a favour, and I can’t tell you why. But I will allow you to have visitation rights if you agree to go to rehab. And, I will return _half_ of your previous assets in Goldman-Sachs and co.”

Henry’s jaw had dropped in amazement. Andy watched him try to compose himself and she smirked bitterly. She could almost hear the cogs turning in Henry’s mind, trying to figure out why she would be willing to concede so much.

“What exactly do you need me to do?” Henry asked, still slightly shocked. “Reverse the rotation of the earth?”

“Oh for God’s sake Henry. Stop being such a drama queen.”

“What then?” he asked growing irritated again. “What do you need me to do so desperately?”

“I need you to ruin someone’s life.” Andy murmured coldly.

“What?” Henry’s eyes widened.

“I want you to use your connections to find out anything that could help bring down a certain person and then use it to do exactly that.”

“Andy I—” he paused considering her words. “Who?”

“Stephen Clarke.”

“Miranda Priestly’s husband? Andy are you insane?” Henry gasped.

“Not that I’m aware.” Andy huffed annoyed.

“That man is…he’s not someone you want to get involved with. He may be a media tycoon on the surface but he’s a lot of other things on the side.” Henry seemed daunted by the prospect of doing what Andy had asked.

“That’s exactly the kind of thing I need to find out about.” Andy replied unfazed. She didn’t know much about Miranda’s husband, but she had heard a few things. Things that would make anyone question where his money really came from. “I need you, to ruin him. And I need you to do it within a month.”

“A month? Can you even hear yourself? That’s insane.” He asked her incredulously. “Andy please, do yourself a favour and stay away from that guy alright?”

“No Henry. It’s not ‘alright’.” Andy snarled. “This is important. Do you think I would ever let you anywhere near my company or our daughter if it wasn’t extremely important to me?”

Henry glared her and then turned away, grinding his teeth together.

“But why Andy?” he bit out, “What possible reason could you have for hating him so much? Is it because of his wife? Miranda Priestly? Has she done something?”

“Were you not listening? I said, ‘I can’t tell you why.’ ” Andy snapped at him.

Henry assessed Andy’s irritation and how sincerely she meant what she was saying. Henry seemed to be wavering. It was obvious that he couldn’t decide whether or not he should agree to do this or not. Watching him dither was almost painfully frustrating to Andy.

“Andy I can’t decide to do something like this on the spot—” he tried.

Andy stood up slowly and came around the table to face Henry directly.

“I’ll make this very simple for you Henry. Do as I ask or you will never see your daughter or have anything to do with the company again. Am I making myself clear enough?”

“Completely.” Henry gulped.

“I will let you discuss this with your lawyer, if you want to.” Andy sighed. “Call me in an hour with your answer.”

She headed for the door, and saw Kate straighten in her chair as Andy walked out.

Her lawyer quickly stood up and followed her when she saw that she was heading for the elevator doors.

Once the elevator arrived and they’d stepped in Kate asked, “So. Are you going to tell me what all this was about?”

“I don’t think so. Not yet anyway.” Andy murmured frostily. She had to think and Kate was getting in the way of that. She needed Henry to say yes. If he didn’t, she’d have to do this on her own and that would take much more time. Time, Miranda did not have.

She texted her driver to pull up to the curb.

She had to make him do it, even if she had to resort to black mail, she resolved. The doors dinged open on the ground floor.

She saw the car pull up and hoped inside, not bothering to say goodbye to Kate. She was too distracted as it was.

“Drive. Just around. For an hour please.” She needed space to think and breathe. Neutral ground. A car ride could do that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Forty five minutes or so after Andy had left the conference room, she felt her phone vibrate in her purse. She took a shaky breathe then pulled it out. Caller ID flashed the name, ‘Henry’ on the screen. She tapped the screen to answer the call.

“Hello Henry.” She said into the phone.

“I’ll do it.” He said without preamble. “But you had better come through on your end of the deal.”  


“I will if you will.” “It might take longer than a month.” He said hesitantly.

“Do it in time and you’ll even get weekends with our daughter… after rehab, of course.” Andy said on impulse. She was definitely going to regret a few of her concessions. But if it meant saving Miranda from the hands of that horrible man, then so be it.

“I— Fine. I’ll do my best.”

“I want weekly reports on your progress Henry.” She inflected her voice with a slight warning. She was not going to let him slack off or get away with doing this half-assed.

She could almost hear him roll his eyes. He sighed and said, “Yes, _ma’am_.”

She ignored his smart-ass comment.

“Good. Talk to you in a week.” She hung up without waiting for his reply. She put the phone back into her purse and leaned her head back against the car seat.

She placed a hand on her baby bump and sighed, releasing the breath she’d been holding. He would do it. It would work. She knew it would. It had too.

“Home, please.” She said to the driver.

“Yes Miss Andy.” He replied.

Andy sighed heavily. Miranda’s appointment was in two hours or so. She had to set up the studio again. She hadn’t touched the portrait since Miranda’s last session.

Of course she’d still been painting other people from printed images and some she just imagined but it wasn’t the same as having a live subject. Especially when that subject was Miranda.

She missed being able to pose her and see her blue-grey eyes light up in the light. She missed painting the shape of her lips and the color on her cheeks.

They still had so much to plan and decide on for the portrait before it would be finished. The lighting, the time of day and the clothes had yet to be decided as well as where Miranda wanted to be for the final portrait’s background.

She looked out the window at the bustling New-York streets, watching people rush past each other, some speaking, others ignoring the other pedestrians, some eating. The streets were alive with the energy of the metropolis.

Seeing the world moving around her gave her hope for her own plans and moving towards where she wanted to be.

Andy was looking forward to telling her about her plan and Henry’s part in it.

 

* * *

 

 

The car pulled up to the sidewalk and Andy stepped out felling drained. She couldn’t stop thinking about Henry’s phone call.

She pulled out her phone again to check for any text messages from work, and as she did so she walked up the few steps towards her building.

Then, she felt her foot lose its grip on the ground and her ankle twisted at the wrong angle. She went flying forward, her hands in front of her to stop her fall but there was more ice on the steps and her hands banged on it and skidded. Her forehead smacked against the edge of the concrete step and her vision became fuzzy.

She’d heard the phone’s screen crack. She felt a sharp clenching and a tug in her abdomen and the pain of it took her breath away. She was suddenly aware of a warm liquid slid down from between her legs and she managed to lift her head enough to look down to see that it was blood.

_‘Oh God. No.’_

She felt a wave of overwhelming panic just before she blacked out.

 

* * *

 

 

Andy woke up with a great, heaving, coughing gasp. Immediately she touched her baby bump and she was horrified to find that it wasn’t gone, but it was _smaller._ There was an angry red line going horizontally on the base of her stomach and sutures holding it shut. Something was very wrong.

Her head ached viciously.

How long had she been knocked out for? Was her baby ok? Was her baby _dead?_ All these questions raced in her mind. She looked around the room confused. It was stale, and white walls told her that she was in a hospital.

She hears a quiet gasp to her left and looks over too see Henry sitting in an uncomfortable looking armchair. He was watching her worriedly.

“Where is my daughter?” she managed in a rough whisper.

“You’re awake.” Henry murmured. He stood up and took Andy’s hand. “She’s fine. She’s in the ISCC. The doctors are almost 100% sure she’ll make it.”

Andy began to cry silent tears. “She’s ok?” she asked. Her throat was tight. “Yes she’s fine.” Henry said with a smile. “She’s perfect.”

“When can I see her?” Andy asked. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Like there was a huge ball of emotions trapped inside of her and she desperately wanted to hold her baby in her arms.

Memories flashed in her mind and the first time she’d had a child came rushing back to her. She couldn’t let what had happened to Ethan happen to her daughter.

“I can ask the nurses if they can bring the unit here so you can see her. She’s beautiful Andy.”

“I need to see her Henry. I need to see her, right now.” Andy said in a strained voice. She had to reassure herself that her baby was alive. She had to see her.

“I’ll go ask now.” Henry stood up with a sigh.

He left the room for what felt like an eternity to Andy but must have only been about half an hour or so. He came back with a nurse pushing the prenatal unit into her room. Inside, was a tiny pink bundle. Andy began to cry again. She could tell they were monitoring her breathing and her temperature was being regulated. She was so tiny.

“My baby.” She whispered. “My sweet baby. You’re ok.” She said through the tears. “Thank God. _Oh thank God.”_

She couldn’t see clearly through the happy and relieved tears. “How long was out for? How is her breathing? Has she been fed?”

“No need to worry Mrs. Sachs-Goldman. We’ve fed her formula up till now, seeing as you were still unconscious. She’s breathing on her own like a big girl and her heart rate is where it needs to be.” Said the nurse, still standing by the prenatal unit. Andy heard her words as though she were speaking from far away. All she could focus on was her baby in carrier.

“We’ll have to keep her in observation for another few hours at least, and you need rest as well. We had to perform an emergency caesarian. You have a concussion and we gave you some pain medication for the head injury. You don’t appear to have any serious damage so in a few days, if she is still as strong as she is now, you can take her home. We’ll keep monitoring both of you until you get the all clear from the doctor.”

“How much does she weigh?” Andy asked the nurse, not looking at her.

“5 pound 2 ounces.” The nurse said cheerfully. “She’s big for premee. 34 weeks old approximately and that heavy. She’s very lucky.”

Andy covered her mouth and let the tears flow. She was smiling. Her baby was alive. For now. She was alright. That was all that mattered.

“Have you chosen a name for her yet?” the nurse asked Henry. Henry shook his head and looked at Andy.

“We haven’t had the chance to discuss it yet.” He said, his voice apprehensive. He looked at Andy. She finally looked away from her daughter and looked at him.

She sighed and thought, _‘Oh for fuck’s sake.’_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Five long days later Andy was finally walking through the doors of her apartment baby carrier in hand and Olivia and the one of the two new nannies, Beverly, trailing behind her with baby essentials.

Henry and she had argued over what to name the baby but had finally agreed on a compromise that Andy and Henry both enjoyed.

Her name was Eva.

Sweet little Eva Sophia Sachs-Goldman came home for the first time at 6 days old, 6 pounds 1 ounce, born premature by three weeks because of a placenta abruption caused by Andy’s harsh fall on the steps.

Sophia was Henry’s pick but Andy liked it and she thought it suited their daughter.

Olivia had explained everything to Miranda by phone and they had rescheduled the appointment for tomorrow morning. Andy couldn’t bear to put off seeing her for any longer. Even though she was watching Eva like a hawk.

She’d had the crib moved to her room, and expected that between feeding the ravenous infant every three hours and being terrified of falling asleep in case something happened to her, Andy was not going to get much more rest than she had at the hospital.

She’d hired two nannies to make sure there was always someone with her, awake and vigilant should little Eva need the slightest thing. Tonight Beverly would stay with her, tomorrow it would be the other nanny, Camille.

Between feedings and using the pump to be able to catch a few hours of sleep at a time Andy was exhausted.

But first a foremost Andy was incandescently happy. She had her baby in her arms and no matter how terrified she was of repeating history, she felt relieved.

She set the carrier down and took little Eva out carefully before settling her in her new crib. Andy had already made sure that both the nannies had experience taking care of premature babies and had training in how to recognise the signs of Jaundice or any kind of infection settling in. Eva was still at risk for either of those possibilities.

Andy didn’t dare contemplate loosing Eva as she’d lost Ethan to SIDS. But the nannies knew about it. And they understood Andy’s extreme attitude towards protecting her newborn daughter.

Andy gazed down at her baby who was still sound asleep. For now. Andy knew that wouldn’t last much longer.

While in the hospital, she’d had Olivia buy out neighbours living on the next level down in order to move her atelier out of the apartment. The paint wasn’t good for the baby’s lungs. It was the easiest, and to Andy’s mind, the most sensible thing to do.

She realised it was little on the extravagant side but she could certainly afford it. She’d also taken time off from the gallery and the company for the next 6 months. She wanted to spend at least that much time with Eva. Maybe she’d take more.

She wasn’t sure yet. It all depended.

Andy had had a few nightmares in the short hours of sleep she’d managed at the hospital. In them, she saw her daughter’s tiny body lying cold and dead in her crib. Andy had woken up screaming. She’d scared the hell out of the nurses in the hospital a few times.

Henry had gone home after the second day, promising to visit again. And he had, once. Andy hadn’t expected more from him.

She didn’t want more.

Doug had visited twice and had gushed over Eva very sweetly. She’d been very glad to see a friendly face after her terrifying experience with the steps. Many other people she knew as acquaintances sent their congratulations and kind words.

Even though she appreciated all the well-wishers notes and the flowers she couldn’t keep in her room sent to her in the hospital, she was glad to be home.

She watched Eva’s mouth pucker and her tiny arms stretched up and down a little. She was going to wake up soon. Andy watched as her daughter’s eyes blinked slowly open, their still deep blue irises taking in the world, watching, learning, observing.

Andy smiled and murmured, “Welcome home Eva.”

 

-TBC-


	12. Thin Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continued support for this story. Enjoy.

Chapter 12: Thin Ice

 

You're the Northern Wind   
Sending shivers down my spine   
You're like falling leaves   
In an autumn night

-City and Colour “Northern Wind”

 

Her cellphone vibrated on the counter and Andy checked the caller ID.

“Good morning Henry.”

“Morning’.” He said on the other end of the phone. “How is Eva?”

“She’s fine. She’s eating well and sleeping as much as can be expected.”

“Good, good." He paused, "I have news.” He said and immediately Andy sat up straighter in her high chair at the kitchen counter.

“Oh?” She was impressed. Hardly a week in and progress already? _‘Well he always was an ‘on the ball’ kind of business man despite being a drunk.’_ Andy mused.

“Yes. Stephen Clarke is a bigger crook than I thought. This guy is dangerous Andy… Are you sure you want to do this?”

“For God’s sake Henry just tell me.” Andy growled impatiently.

Henry sighed heavily then said, “He’s involved in a high level embezzlement scheme.”

“What?” Andy gasped. “How?” She’d expected drugs or alcoholism or past cases of abuse but not this

“I’m not sure yet. But its big Andy.” She heard him clear his throat, then he said, “This man has more connections and money than either of us. We’ll have to involve the law, and it will have to be public if this is going to work.”

Andy’s eyes shut and she clenched her teeth. “If we can do this without involving police that would be best.” If they did, the media would no doubt get involved and the media circus would rage around all of them. It could be troublesome.

“I can’t promise that. I can try to stay anonymous if that will help, but if you want this guy taken down, you will need the law backing you on this.”

“Alright.” Andy conceded. “If you can find proof that he’s involved in the embezzlement, enough to get him fired and maybe get some jail time. That will be enough.”

_“What?”_ Henry squawked in a choked voice. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

“I am aware of the risk I’m taking, Henry.”

“If the law finds out that we are involved in any way with this, we would be finished, Andy. Completely _finished_. Do you realise that?” Henry was practically yelling now.

“Henry.” Andy snarled, “If you won’t do what I’ve asked, our deal is off.”

That calmed him right down. “I— you _fucking_ —” he stuttered furiously. “Alright. _Damn it_ Andy _._ I’ll do it.”

“Good.” Andy hung up.

She sat at the counter, still as a stone for a long while. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, like a drum. Her coffee grew cold.

She didn’t care.

Andy’d always known she was capable of doing whatever was necessary to protect those she cared for but she’d never been made to go this far before. Fear sunk its teeth into her and she felt crushed by the sudden rush of emotion.

She was risking everything. The company. Miranda’s wellbeing and her daughters’. Eva’s safety.

She looked down at her hand. They were white and shaking.

She felt her chest tighten and her breathing speed up. She couldn’t get enough air. She was panting, and she felt every muscle in her body tense up.

Then the tears came. She couldn’t breathe. She was almost hyperventilating. Her nails dug into her forearms and she forced herself to take gasping breaths.

The pain in her arms helped her focus on the here and now. Beverly could walk in any minute and see her here, having a panic attack. That wouldn’t do. She had to calm down.

After a few more minutes of forcing her breathing to calm down, she finally stopped crying. Her breathing regulated itself again. She stood up stiffly and went to the sink to splashed water into her face.

She hadn’t had a panic attack since she was a teenager.

Andy took deep breaths, dumped the cold cup of coffee in the sink and then poured herself another cup of coffee. She was glad to be able to indulge in caffeine again.

She sipped at it grateful for its warmth. She felt chilled to the bone.

 

***

 

Andy reheated, then finished the coffee and went to check on Eva, who was still sleeping, thank goodness. She then went to the bathroom and cleaned herself up, got dressed and applied a fresh coat of makeup. She finished applying her nude lipstick carefully, then Andy heard the knock on the door.

She hurried to the front hall to open it. Miranda was early for her session, as per-usual. She opened the door to see Miranda in her Gucci sunglasses, and cream trench coat standing at the door expectantly.

“Hello Miranda.” Andy murmured trying to keep her voice steady. She still felt a bit shaken by her conversation with Henry. She didn’t know how much she should tell Miranda about it.

“How are you?” She asked brusquely. Miranda was obviously in no mood for mincing words.

“I’m well. So is Eva.” She paused and let Miranda in the hall, taking her coat. It felt strange to think it had been so long since they had had a session.

“Would you like to meet her?” Andy asked glancing at her hesitantly.

“I—” Miranda started. “Yes, I don’t see why not.” She replied tersely, removing her sunglasses and putting them in her purse. Andy smiled and hung her coat in the closet, before leading the way to the nursery.

Beverly sat in a chair, reading a book while keeping an eye on Eva. Andy nodded to her and Beverly smiled and said, “She’s awake right now.”

“Hello darling.” Andy whispered as she looked into the crib.

Eva was in her crib, gurgling quietly. Her eyes were wide and a deep blue colour. She couldn’t really focus on much yet, but she enjoyed the dangling toys placed above her crib.

Miranda stood in the door frame for a moment, following Andy’s lead. Then she moved closer and stood at the edge of the crib to look down at the infant lying there.

“She’s lovely, Andrea.”

“Thank you.” Andy replied with a tense smile.

Andy still had nightmares quite often and she was sure there were dark circles under her eyes that no makeup could fully hide. Miranda looked at her child with an inscrutable expression. Andy held back a chuckle. She would probably never be able to read Miranda well , no matter how well they got to know each other.

“Let’s go downstairs.” Andy said, cupping her daughter’s cheek gently before heading out to the hall.

Miranda followed close behind and asked surprised, “Downstairs?”

“Mmm, I had to move the studio to the lower level. Paint is not good for Eva’s lungs.”

“Oh, of course.” Miranda murmured. There was an awkward silence, as they went back to the main hall. Once in the elevator, Andy took the liberty of searching Miranda’s face for any signs of pain.

“Oh stop that.” Miranda snapped, unexpectedly. “I’m fine.”

“Are you? Really?” She asked, not at all convinced. Andy wanted to make sure that she was, but she knew Miranda would rip her head off for just asking. Which was why she hadn’t asked. They still stood on thin ice with this topic. Andy didn’t know how much she was allowed to know.

“Yes.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s on a business trip in Shanghai for the weekend.”

Andy didn’t need to ask who ‘he’ was. “Oh.” she said awkwardly. “Good.”

Miranda sniffed at her lingering expression of concern.

Andy took a step closer, but the elevator doors dinged open and instead she led the way to the studio. The space was similar but not exactly the same. She still had the wall of windows, which let the light in perfectly. The leather arm chairs had been rearranged and her work table was still as cluttered with papers as ever.

“Please, have a seat.” She said, gesturing to the arm chair. Memories of the last time they had done this invaded her mind and she found herself picturing Miranda on the floor, with tousled hair, her mouth parted in a soft gasp.

She quickly pushed those thoughts away. Now was not exactly the time. The painting was important to Andy, she had to focus… but it was no longer her first priority. She supressed a sigh.

Andy let Miranda get settled in, while she set up her easel and paints.

She saw Miranda try to emulate the position they had used before and Andy knew what would come next. She could see it in Miranda’s eyes.

Andy came forward to pose her. She waited for Miranda’s nod before letting her hand cup Miranda’s jaw to guide her into place. She felt Miranda flinch slightly.

_“Miranda.”_ She whispered. Andy watched her shut her eyes, and felt her jaw tense. She shivered under Andy’s touch.

“Don’t.” she said through tight lips. “I can’t stand people fretting over me.”                      

Andy suddenly felt overwhelmed by how much she had missed her. Her barbed comments, the glances that meant so much more, her voice, and those damnable eyes of hers.

“I know that.” She brushed her thumb over Miranda’s cheek bone, and tilted her face up.

Miranda opened her eyes and Andy saw a flash of concern. Andy leaned in slowly and watched as the grey blue eyes closed again and Miranda sighed into her touch.

Andy pressed her mouth to Miranda’s softly, putting all the tenderness and longing she felt for this woman into her kiss. She gripped Miranda’s nape pressing more fervently. Miranda sighed and parted her lips slightly, an invitation to deepen the kiss. Andy took her chance and tilted her head accordingly. In that instant Andy dared to hope for more than she had ever hoped for.

Miranda’s hands found her hair and threaded through the dark brown strands holding her there for a moment before pulling away gently.

Andy wanted to lean in for more, to see if she could maybe—

“I can’t.” Miranda gasped. Andy froze for half a second, then nodded.

Andy saw Miranda was just as breathless as she was. Her eyes were glazed and her lips trembled ever so slightly.

She wasn’t ready. Andy should have known that. And if she was being honest with herself, neither was she, really.

She took a moment to study her face, the angles of her brow, the shape of her eyes, the irises and their shifting ocean colour, the way her hair curled just behind her ears, her bangs which fell onto her forehead and were just long enough to brush aside. The corners of her mouth which sharpened when she smiled, the strong lines of her jaw, and the length of her lashes.

She looked intently at all the features which are best observed at a close distance, committing it to memory so that her painting would reflect the truth of her.

Hopefully, her portrait allow the viewer to sense the awe she felt looking at this beautiful woman.

Andy let their foreheads touch briefly before straightening.

Miranda looked at her and raised an eyebrow, the remaining flush still clinging to her cheekbones.

“If only you could see what I see when I look at you.” she murmured letting her sincerity colour her voice.

Miranda scoffed but smiled indulgently.

Andy frowned but thought _‘I’ll fight that battle another day.’_

She was just glad Miranda hadn’t been hurt— but doubt nagged at the back of Andy’s mind. It had been a while since she’d seen her, who was to say he had not beaten her since then? She felt the frown on her face before she could stop herself.

Miranda glared at her as though she could read her thoughts. “Stop.”

“But—” she tried to say.

“No, Andrea. I thought I’d made myself clear. I will not tolerate being pitied. Especially not by you. I thought we had agreed not to pity each other.”

Andrea sighed. She knew Miranda was right to reprove her. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

“I understand that you are concerned but I do not appreciate it.”

Andrea nodded meekly.

“Don’t look so sullen.” Miranda said, with a sly smile. “I’m here aren’t I?”

“Yes.” Andrea replied. “And speaking of which, I should get to work.”

She positioned Miranda gently but swiftly into the portrait’s pose and then went to easel.

She selected a playlist on her iPhone she thought Miranda might enjoy. Mostly a collection of instrumental, calming music, some from unknown artists, others from the classics.

Andy thought she saw Miranda sigh almost imperceptibly.

Andy hardly ever saw Miranda outside of these short sessions. She knew of her reputation as a ruthless business woman, and she knew just how busy she must be. Andy remembered what it was like, being completely swamped when she had been running the company.

She imagined that running an international multi-billion dollar fashion magazine must be a similar situation.

Andy set herself to the task of outlining Miranda’s shoulders and neck. She let the music play and advanced on the portrait with as much care and skill as she could muster.

After nearly a half hour, she called for a break. Miranda stood up and rolled her shoulders slightly.

“Tea? Coffee? Water?” Andy offered, as she flexed her own shoulders then rolled her wrists and stretched the muscles in her hand.

“No, not right now.” Miranda replied. She pursed her lips thoughtfully for a moment. Then she jerked her head in the direction of the canvas. “May I look?”

“Of course.” Andy said and stood up from her easel so Miranda could come stand beside her to see how the portrait was progressing.

So far, she had her jaw, neck and shoulders outlined and the beginnings of her brow and the edge of her hair. Andy knew it didn’t look like much yet. But it was a slow process and she wanted to be certain it was as accurate as she could make it.

“Hmm.” Miranda said. Andy’s eyes widened. _‘What on earth did that mean?’_ she thought worriedly.

“Do you not like it?” she dared to ask. She could have kicked herself for it. She wanted to know but at the same time, she didn't. What if she really wasn't pleased? What then?

“There isn’t much to like about it yet.” She quipped raising an eyebrow at the painting.

Andy barked a laugh. “True enough.” Andy admitted. “I work slowly. But the detail I achieve is worth the time it takes to create it.”

“I’m sure.” Miranda said, with a hint of sarcasm.

Andy hmph’d. She would do her damned best to make portrait exactly like Miranda so that once it was done, she would be satisfied.

Then she gathered her courage and said, “Miranda…I need to talk to you about Stephen.”

She saw Miranda’s shoulders tense. Andy bit her lip. She really wished she didn’t have to do this but she did. It was important for her to know.

“What about him?” She asked immediately on the defensive.

“I’ve discovered some information.” She hedged.

Miranda’s lips thinned with displeasure but she didn’t tell Andy to stop talking. _'Oh God.'_ She thought.

“Incriminating information.” Andy said despite her misgivings. Miranda inhaled through her nose sharply. Andy could see her jaw tensing and wished she could make this easier for everyone involved but she also knew it wasn’t possible.

“I have reason to believe he’s involved in an embezzlement scheme.”

Miranda shut her eyes and swallowed hard.

“I thought it would be best to inform you before I went any further.”

“Do you have solid proof yet?” She asked cutting to the quick.

Andy shook her head ‘no’. “But I will soon enough.” She hoped. Henry was generally quite competent when he had the right motivation. Ok, maybe _generally_ was too much of a compliment. But at least she knew he was motivated.

Miranda looked out the window and swallowed hard again.

“I wanted you to know because if you have any involvement in it unwittingly, you had better get out of it as soon as possible. Get you financial advisers to go over everything with a fine toothed comb. If this blows up, and it might, you need to be beyond reproach.”

Miranda turned away to glare at the window now and it looked like she was biting the inside of her cheek. Andy could practically feel the anger rolling off her in waves. Towards Andy or Stephen, she didn’t know. Damn it. She wished for the millionth time she could simply have Stephen killed and be done with everything but she would never say anything of the sort to Miranda.

“I’m sorry.” She said, almost meekly.

“Sorry? _You’re_ sorry?” Miranda barked. “If anyone should be sorry it’s—” she snapped her mouth shut trying to contain her rage.

Andy was at a loss. She did not know how to help Miranda in this instant. She didn’t have the right words for this. So instead she reached out and touch Miranda’s hand. She immediately gripped Andy’s fingers tightly enough to hurt, still not looking at her.

“Can you put me in touch with a few people at Elias-Clarke who would have reason to— dislike Stephen? People who might have access to his financial files particularly?”

Miranda loosened her grip but did not let god. She nodded once.

“Thank you.” Andy breathed, relieved to see Miranda calming down, even just a bit.

“I’ll have Emily email you the names.” she said stiffly.

Then she let go of Andy’s hand. “Let’s get back to it.”

She went to sit again in the arm chair, and looked at Andy expectantly.

Andy gave her a small smiled and began to pose her once more for her portrait.

 

-TBC-


	13. Cold Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING. Mentions of rape and abuse.

 

 

_Sooner or later,_

_reality does occur and when it does,_

_all the lies show up,_

_like blood on snow._

_\- Andrew Clements_

 

 

That very evening Andy got an email from Emily with a list of names, which she forwarded to Henry with the added comment, ‘These people could be of use to you. They have reasons to dislike Stephen Clarke.’

 _‘They probably hate him almost as much as I do.’_ Andy thought as she shut the lid of her computer. She ‘hmph’d at the thought. She wondered how Miranda was and if she was safe tonight. The baby monitor on the counter beside her alerted her to the sound of Eva crying and whimpering in complaint of something. Camille was with her but Andy wanted to see her, if only to reassure herself.

She went to the nursery and saw Camille shushing Eva without much success. The baby had a set of lungs on her, Andy had to admit.

“Here let me take her.” Andy said, and held out her arms, in which Eva was quickly deposited.

Andy began to hum a lullaby and rock her gently. It took a few minutes but Eva finally quieted. An alarm beeped and Camille said, “It’s time to feed her. I’ll fetch the bottle.”

She left to go get a bottle from the kitchen. Andy watched the now quiet and alert infant blinking her still deep blue eyes up at her, unable to focus on anything much yet. She pressed her lips to Eva’s forehead inhaling the ‘new-baby’ smell.

She felt tears burn behind her nose and she ground her teeth together. She remembered when Ethan still smelled like this. His soft hair, and sweet little face. She pressed another kiss to Eva’s forehead and went to sit in the rocking chair. She hummed the air to ‘All the pretty little ponies’ and rocked back and forth. She heard her voice crack and felt a tear track its way down her cheek.

Camille came back, warm bottle in hand, ready to feed Eva.

The young woman took one look at her and said, “Miss Sachs-Goldman? What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine. Eva’s fine.” She murmured, and swallowed hard.

Camille nodded, but looked unconvinced.

“I was just remembering when Ethan was this age. They look alike you know?” she didn’t look up from Eva’s face. She traced a fingertip along the edge of the child’s jawline, remembering how similar Ethan’s face had been to hers. Surely she was too young to resemble her brother so much? Surely Andy was imagining things? But the more Andy looked at Eva, the more she saw Ethan’s features appear.

“Oh.” Camille said, taken aback. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Andy smiled bitterly. She sighed and stood. “Eva is probably hungry. Take her, will you?”

She handed Eva back to Camille with all the care in the world. Eva latched on to the bottle quickly enough and began to gulp down her milk like any healthy new-born would. Andy caressed her daughter’s soft cheek once more with a brief smile, before heading to her studio to get some paper work done for the next day.

 

***

 

The phone rang and jerked Andy from her sleep with a jolt. She gasped, then realised the phone was ringing and picked up without thinking.

“Hello?” She managed to say into the phone. God only knew what time it was. She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. 2:09am. She blinked.

“Andrea.” Said an unmistakable voice on the other end. “Andrea, I— I need your help.”

“Miranda?” Andy gasped, “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

There was silence before Andy heard the barest hint of a choked sob on the other end. “No. I—I don’t think so.”

“Where are you?” Andy sat up in bed and turned the side lamp on. “I’ll come get you.”

“I’m about two blocks down from my house.”

“Miranda, are you safe?” Andy asked alarmed. She was outside at this time of night in New-York? What on earth happened? Andy wanted to ask but she knew there really wasn’t any time.

“Miranda?” Andy asked, worried that she’d hung up.

“I’m safe enough.” Miranda said, and Andy could hear the tears in her voice. Andy frowned and began to worry even more. Miranda never cried. It was completely unusual for her to be crying or asking for help.

“Miranda, I’m coming to get you. So just hold on alright?” Andy said as she pulled on a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt. “Are you hurt badly?”

“Define badly.” Miranda snapped into the phone. _‘Ah, there she is,’_ Andy thought relieved, _‘a bit worse for wear but still herself.’_

“Bleeding, cuts needing stitches, broken bones, anything needing medical attention that isn’t in a first aid kit.” Andy said, even though she knew Miranda’s question had been purely rhetorical.

Miranda didn’t reply, she merely sighed into the phone, exasperated.

“Do you have a coat on?” Andy asked, as she pulled on her own, realising Miranda must have run out of the house if she wasn’t at home at this hour.

“…No.” Miranda replied after a brief hesitation. Andy swore under her breathe. That bastard. It was freezing cold outside. It would take Andy at least fifteen minutes to get to Miranda. She swore again, cursing Stephen Clarke black and blue in her mind.

“I’ll bring you one. In the meantime, tell me what happened.” Andy said, now even more worried than before.

“Not like this. Not on the phone.” Miranda murmured, and her voice expressed how exhausted she was.

“How long have you been outside?” Andy asked as she hurried out to her car in the parking lot.

Miranda sighed again and said, “Not long.” Andy didn’t believe her. She _sounded_ cold for Christ’s sake.

Andy arrived at the basement parking, hurried towards her car, unlocked it and then put the keys in the ignition all on autopilot.

“Are the girls safe?” Andy asked, realising she didn’t know if the twins were alright.

“They’re at a friend’s house for a sleep over. Thank God.” Miranda replied, her tone telling Andy that she was sincerely grateful they had not been there.

“Miranda, stay on the phone with me alright? I’ll be there in a few minutes. Just hang on ok? I’ll be there soon.” Andy tried to reassure her but she got no reply from Miranda except a barely audible, “Alright.”

Andy sped out of the parking area towards Miranda’s townhouse, hoping she wasn’t hurt horribly. Andy wanted to rip Stephen Clarke limb from limb for what he did to Miranda. Maybe she’d find a way to arrange that.

 

***

 

Andy finally neared the townhouse but continued as directed by Miranda to a few streets down where she found Miranda sitting at a bus stop with her arms wrapped around herself, shivering in the cold night as the wind whipped her hair across her face. She was wearing a grey bathrobe and what appeared to be pale blue satin pajamas.

Andy half ran out of the car towards her and wanted to pull her to her but didn’t dare for fear of hurting her. Instead she gripped her hand and said, “Miranda.”

The woman didn’t respond except by looking up at her. Her neck was bruised, blue and turning dark purple. Her eyes were red, and she was shaking. Andy suspected that it was only partially due to the cold. What had that monster done to her?

Miranda stood up slowly, still holding Andy’s hand. She leaned against Andrea, pressing her head into the side of Andy’s neck. Andy quickly wrapped the coat she’d brought with her around her shoulders and carefully, still holding her hand, led her back to the car.

Once Miranda was safely sitting in the warm car, Andy turned to look at her.

“Do you want me to take you to a hotel for the night?” Andy asked, not daring to presume her apartment would suit her, even for just one night. Miranda, who was usually so strong, seemed horribly fragile in that instant.

She shook her head ‘no’. That gave Andy pause, who then realised she only had one option left to offer.

“Would you like to come to my place then?” Andy asked, watching Miranda like a hawk. She was still shivering, and her eyes were blank, expressionless. Andy was worried she was in shock.

She nodded ‘yes’ still not looking at Andy.

Andy drove them back to her apartment, never letting Miranda’s hand go unless it was absolutely necessary. When Miranda didn’t stop shaking after five minutes, Andy turned the heat up.

They drove back in silence. Miranda leaned back into the seat, her eyes closed, still trembling like a leaf, despite the car helping to warm her up. All the while, whenever Andy glanced over, she never looked at Andy but held onto her hand like a life buoy. Her other hand was clenched into a fist, her nails digging into her palm.

 _‘Oh God Miranda. Oh God please be alright.’_ Andy thought as she drove a bit faster than she really ought to, on the way home.

 

***

When they arrived, Miranda was still silent as the grave. Andy removed her coat for her and hung it up. She felt strangely like it was _déja-vue,_ then realised it was what she did when Miranda arrived for her sessions usually, but this was most certainly not that.

She led Miranda to the living room, and sat her down on the couch.

“I’ll make some tea, to help warm you up.” Andy said, quietly, conscious of the nanny and the baby sleeping just down the hall.

Andy handed her a throw blanket she kept on the couch and Miranda took it from her.

She left the living room and made chamomile tea as quickly as she could. She hoped they wouldn’t wake Eva up before her feeding time.

When she finally came back to the living room, pot of tea in hand, with two mugs, Miranda was curled up with her knees to her chest, sitting on the couch leaning her head into her hands.

Andy put the teapot and mugs down on the coffee table. She poured Miranda a cup and placed it in front of her on the table, then went to sit beside her before pouring her own. Miranda looked up as she sat down. Andy could tell she been crying.

“You’ll call in sick to work tomorrow.” Andy whispered to her. Miranda nodded in agreement. Her face was grey and she looked almost defeated. She was known for her work ethic but even she knew, she could not function worth a damn at the moment.

Andy reached out and slowly, so that Miranda could see, cupped her cheek, running her thumb across her cheekbone. Miranda shut her eyes, leaning into her touch.

“Finish your tea and I’ll get you some fresh pajamas.” Andy told her firmly. Miranda’s clothes were wet from the snow and no doubt she’d be more comfortable in a dry pair of borrowed pajamas.

Miranda picked up the mug from the table and blew on it gently. Andy went to rummage through her drawers until she could find something that might fit her comfortably. She found a pair of her old pajamas that were warm, and clean. They weren’t anything fancy, but they’d do. She texted Beverly that she had a guest who was staying over, and that the guest bedroom was not to be disturbed.

When she came back, bundle of clothes in hand, Miranda had mostly finished her mug and was back to sitting quietly on the couch.

“You look exhausted.” Andy murmured, and Miranda simply looked at her. Andy could see the pain in her beautiful eyes. The anger and the rage blended into the grey and blue shades. At least they were no longer blank. Andy had been worried mostly about that.

“Let’s get you settled.” Andy said, and held out her hand Miranda took it, standing cautiously. Andy saw her wince and grind her teeth together as she did so. Andy shut her eyes briefly and once again considered murdering Miranda’s husband in cold blood.

He would pay for it. Andy would make sure, he would _pay._

Putting those thoughts aside for the time being, she led Miranda down the hall way to the guest bedroom. She opened the door and Miranda took one look at it and shook her head.

“What’s wrong?” Andy asked perplexed.

Miranda looked away then whispered, “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

“Oh.” Andy said, feeling like an idiot. “Um. Well then. Let’s go to my room.”

Miranda nodded once.

When Andy opened the door to her own larger bedroom further down the hall, Miranda allowed Andy to lead her inside. Andy handed Miranda the spare set of pajamas and pointed the on-suite bathroom and said, “You can change in there if you like.”

Miranda licked her lips then whispered, “I don’t think I can.”

Andy lifted her eyebrows but then realised why she couldn’t.

“I’ll help you then.”

She let Miranda sit on the bed while she unbuttoned the pale blue satin and then, after slowly removing the bathrobe, removed the chemise. Underneath, Miranda’s shoulder blades were covered in splotchy bruises. Her arms had finger marks on them, and her ribs were badly bruised as well. The angry red and purple bruise on her neck stretched to her collar bone as well.

Andy had to look away to prevent herself from reacting brashly. She swallowed hard and said, “I think you’re collarbone is broken.”

Miranda said nothing.

“Miranda, you should see a doctor.” Andy said, looking her up and down, trying not to cry at the thought of her being in pain. It made her feel sick, seeing her suffer like this.

“No.” Miranda said, with finality.

“Miranda—”

 _“No.”_ Miranda repeated, this time glaring at Andrea.

Andy sighed and decided she would retackle the subject tomorrow. Nothing seemed in need of surgery or an ER.

Andy helped her out of the rest of her clothes, relieved to see that she wasn’t bruised as much below the waist. There were, however, finger marks on her hips and ones on her wrist which she hadn’t seen before.

Andy’s eyes widened with understanding. He’d raped her. The bastard had fucking raped her. Andy shut her eyes, shaking with anger, then grabbed the nearest thing which just happened to be her alarm clock, yanked it out of the wall and sent it smashing to the floor. Miranda gasped, startled by the sudden outburst of fury. Andy clenched her hands into fists and then saw Miranda’s face turning white.

Andy immediately forced herself to calm down. This was the last thing Miranda needed at the moment. She had to be calm.

“I’m sorry. I just— I’m sorry. I let my emotions get the better of me.”

It was a miracle she hadn’t woken Eva up with the noise.

Miranda nodded and picked up the pj pants and tried to slide them on herself but couldn’t quite manage with her shoulder the way it was. Andy quickly moved to help her, and then Miranda was dressed for bed. Andy lifted up the cover and helped Miranda crawl in. She felt like she was in some kind of surreal nightmare, that she’d wake up and find it was all a terrible dream. But Andy knew it wasn’t.

In almost any other circumstances, she’d have been happy to have Miranda in the same bed as her, but this was certainly not the time to be thinking of that. Andy shook her head and went to get her own pj’s back on before turning out the light and crawling into bed herself.

It was strange having Miranda, lying there, and still shaking intermittently.

Andy reached across the bed and took Miranda’s hand in her own. Then she moved closer until she lay beside her. It was Miranda who moved even closer, pressing herself against Andy.

Andy shifted so that she could reach up and wrap a careful arm around Miranda, her hand cupping her face, fingers twining with Miranda’s white hair. Miranda allowed herself to be gathered even closer into Andy’s embrace, resting her head in the crook of Andy’s neck.

Andy said nothing, merely focused on gently running her hand along Miranda’s face and petting her hair. There were no words that could make any of this better. She pressed her lips to Miranda’s forehead. Andy could feel her shaking in her arms, either from rage or sadness or a mixture of both.

Miranda’s breathing began to come in shaky gasps, fast and sharp like she wasn’t getting enough air. Andy knew she was having a panic attack. She sat up and help Miranda lie flat on her back.

“Breathe. Miranda, you need to breathe. I’m here. Nothing can harm you.” Andy said calmly and Miranda nodded, her eyes wide and her breathing ragged.

“Breathe with me. Try to breathe with me.” Andy instructed and began to take long deep breaths. Miranda couldn’t quite manage for the first few minutes, but Andy was persistent and held her hand and kept on encouraging and soothing her. Then after what felt like an eternity, Miranda’s breathing began to slow, a few deeper breaths at a time.

“That’s right. That’s good. There we go.” Andy said and as Miranda’s breathing calmed, Andy lay back down beside her. Miranda once more pressed herself into Andy’s arms, still trembling.

They lay in silence, Miranda clutching Andy’s hand hard in her own. Andy pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and murmured, “I’m here. You’re safe now. I’m here.”

Andy felt something wet against her shoulder and realised Miranda was weeping silently.

Andy began to kiss intermittently all around her face, trying to comfort this indomitable woman, who seemed so shattered.

“Oh _Miranda._ ” Andy whispered between light kisses. There was nothing but silence from the other woman, for a long moment.

“He was drunk when he came home. I was working on the Book in the living room. He came in raging mad because I had been forced to miss dinner because of a crisis at work. He— he came and began to yell and then _he hit me._ He said the least I could do was give him a good f-fuck if I couldn’t be a good wife. Then he raped me. I tried to fight him off, but he only beat me harder.”

Andy said nothing. There was nothing she could say. She prayed Henry would help her destroy Miranda’s monster of a husband as soon as was humanly possible. It was all she could do and by God did she ever feel helpless with that knowledge, lying in bed here with Miranda still crying silently.

“When he was done, he went upstairs. I stayed downstairs, and then I ran outside. It was sheer luck that I had my phone in my pocket. You were the only one,” Miranda swallowed hard. “The only one I could call.”

“I’m going to stop him from doing this Miranda. One way or another. I swear it.” Andy said, and she could only hope her voice would impart a fraction of how deeply she meant those words.

Miranda looked Andy square in the eye, unflinching and then she nodded once. She understood that Andy meant what she had said.

“Do you want a sleeping pill or will you sleep without one?” Andy asked, after a few moments.

“I wouldn’t say no to one.” Miranda said, resigned. Andy could only guess at the memories plaguing her, replaying themselves in her mind.

Andy reached behind herself into the bedside table’s drawer and pulled out a bottle of pills.

“I’ll get you some water. I’ll be right back.” She sat up out of bed. Then she went to the kitchen and got a glass of water.

She was startled to hear the sound of footsteps coming up behind her. She turned around almost dropping the glass but then saw it was Beverly and let out a relieved sigh.

“You startled me.” Andy whispered, a bit breathless.

“I’m sorry Miss Sachs-Goldman.” Beverly replied with a weak smile. “It’s time to feed Eva.”

“Yes of course 3:00am on the dot. I should have guessed.”

“Can I ask who your guest is and how long they are staying? I’ll let Maria know if we need more groceries when she goes out tomorrow.”

“You cannot tell anyone apart from Camille, Olivia and Maria who it is who is staying here, or she could be in danger. In fact, it would be best if you did not tell anyone that I even have a guest. Is that clear?” Andy said in a soft, low, and deadly serious voice. The one she used to get her point across during days as a CEO in a board meeting and now to impress upon Beverly the severity of the situation.

Beverly’s mouth fell open and her eyes widened. When Andy glared, she recovered enough to say, “Yes ma’am. I won’t tell a soul.”

Andy looked at her fixedly, and thought, _‘You had better not. Or you’ll regret it.’_

“Miranda Priestly is my guest tonight and will be for as long as she wants to be.” Andy said without giving further explanation.

Beverly nodded, seemingly at a loss for words. Andy retrieved a milk bottle from the fridge and handed it to Beverly.

“See you in the morning Beverly.” Andy said and left the nanny to her task of feeding Eva.

Glass of water in hand, she peeked in on Eva who was still thankfully quiet and breathing in her crib in the nursery.

Andy saw the memory of Ethan lying cold and still in a crib similar to this one and winced. She bit her bottom lip hard, bringing herself back into the present. Gripping the glass of water tighter, she went back to her own room where Miranda was no doubt waiting.

When she returned to the room, Miranda was sitting up, leaning against the headboard. Andy handed her a pill and the glass.

She took the pill quickly, desperate for the respite from reality sleep might bring, or so Andy supposed. Andy carefully ensconced herself against Miranda’s side once more and then, waited for sleep to claim her for the remainder of what could be call the night or the morning, depending on how one chose to look at it.

 

***

 

The next morning, Andy woke up to find herself alone in bed. She sat up straight, instantly forcing herself to be alert. Had Miranda left? Did she go back home? Did she leave?

She checked the bathroom and it was empty, then ran out to the living room and called out, “Miranda? Are you still—”

She stopped short as she passed by the kitchen area and saw Miranda sitting, carefully, at the island, coffee mug in one hand, iPad in the other, reading the newspaper.

Maria was at the stove cooking up something that smelled divine and looked like French toast.

 _‘Oh thank God.’_ Andy thought to herself as she headed for the coffee pot. She certainly needed it this morning.

“Good morning Miss.” Said Maria, not looking up from her frying pan, as she prodded the piece of cooking toast.

“Morning Maria.” Andy said through a muffled yawn. “Has Camille arrived yet?”

“Oh yes miss, she arrive about an hour ago.”

“Good. I’m going to check on Eva then.”

Maria looked up and offered an encouraging smile.

Before leaving Andy turned to look at the woman reading the newspaper quietly at her counter and said, “Good morning Miranda.”

Miranda hummed in acknowledgement around a sip of scalding hot coffee. She strangely did not seem out of place, in Andy’s kitchen, sitting at the island, reading the paper as though it were any other day. Andy did notice however that the grey bathrobe had the collar turned up slightly, to hide the bruises on her neck as best she could.

 _‘What a strange way to start the day.’_ Andy mused as she headed down the hall to check on her daughter and the nanny.

 

\- TBC -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me through this long and slow updating process! I appreciate your continued support for this story! :)


	14. More Precious Than Art

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little more graphic in this one. Mature readers only please.

 

 _All you have is your fire..._  
And the place you need to reach -  
Don't you ever tame your demons  
But always keep 'em on a leash

_\- Hozier, “Arsonist’s Lullaby”_

After Maria had left, and breakfast had been eaten, Miranda announced that she would be heading home that very morning.

“You’re going back there?” Andy exclaimed, truly shocked. “Back to him? After what he’s done he should be—”

“Don’t be so naïve.” Miranda snapped and Andy sat a little straighter. “You think this is _the first time_ this has happened? You think I have time to cower and lick my wounds?” she demanded glowering. She sighed, exasperated. “Well. I shouldn’t expect more from you. You’re an _idealist.”_

She said the word ‘idealist’ as though it were an insult. And maybe to Miranda, it was.

“Miranda—” Andy tried.

“Andrea please.” She raised a hand to interrupt her. “There is nothing you can say to ‘make this better’.” She wasn’t looking at Andy and there was a bitterness in the way her mouth was set.

“You’re right.” Andy conceded. “I can’t say anything to help you.”

She decided that actions were the only way to truly get through to this woman, in front of her. Andy could sense that she’d closed herself off from people, that she would always fear being hurt and instead attack first to prevent any such thing from happening. Like any animal that had been abused would, simply out of habit.

Andy placed a hand over Miranda’s and she felt her flinch, but after a moment, she gripped Andy’s hand like a vice. It hurt but Andy just smiled weakly. She want to show Miranda that she would never hurt her. She would always be gentle.

She moved so that she was standing behind Miranda, her chest pressed against her back. She wrapped her free arm around Miranda’s waist, being very careful not to apply any kind of pressure that might hurt her ribs or shoulder. Andy felt Miranda take a shuddering breath. Miranda was still hold her hand although Andy moved their joined hands to rest on Miranda’s shoulder.

Miranda let her head fall back so that it rested on Andy’s collarbone. Andy pressed her cheek against Miranda’s hair and shut her eyes.

And it was good, so good to feel her in her arms. Safer there than anywhere else. Andy felt an irrational urge to always keep her nearby and never let anyone else near enough to hurt her ever again, but she knew she was being childish and wishful. But here, holding her close, Andy felt a kind of liquid warmth in her bones. All the while a single thought filled her mind, repeating over and over again. _‘You’re safe with me.’_

Andy didn’t dare say it out loud. The moment was fragile and words would do nothing but cheapen it. She could only hope Miranda somehow sensed this fact.

Then a familiar whimper resounded from the baby monitor on the counter abruptly making Andy jump a bit. She chuckled nervously.

Miranda let go of her hand and Andy took her queue to let go of her as well.

Then they heard the sound of Camille hushing and murmuring to Eva, to try and calm her down. Andy turned the volume down on the monitor, at least until Eva stopped wailing quite so loudly. As she put the monitor down on the counter, she remembered thinking that it was odd that Ethan was so quiet, the day he’d— She bit her bottom lip and tried to prevent her eyes filling with tears but it was too late. The memory was there, burning in her mind.

It was her turn to look away from Miranda who had raised her eyebrows at Andy questioningly.

“It’s nothing. I’m just being sentimental.”

Miranda gave her a concerned glance, but didn’t press. There wasn’t an explanation due, or any expectation of Andy elaborating and Miranda somehow fixing things with words. They had that in common.

Andy forced back the tears that threatened to fall, and through sheer force of will prevented herself from crying. She dabbed at her eyes with a napkin and then composed herself. Eva was not Ethan. She knew and yet, she was still terrified of doing something wrong, of the past repeating itself.

“What are we Andrea?” Miranda asked, snapping her out of her memories. She was truly asking her, looking her in the eyes, expecting an answer. “What is _this?_ ” she murmured, gesturing between them.

Andy chuckled and it came out sounding harsh. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I’m not exactly working from a script here.” She said wryly.

“Mmm.” Miranda agreed, her own lips turning up into a sardonic smirk.

Andy, acting on instinct pressed a hand to Miranda’s cheek, letting her thumb graze her cheekbone and said, “All I know, is that I care about you.”

Miranda looked her dead in the eye then, judging her sincerity, and in return Andy let her sentiment become transparent. For a moment Miranda said nothing and Andy pulled her hand away, fearing the worst. Miranda watched her hand curiously, as it pulled away from her face.

“No one touches me, did you know that?” Miranda said, seemingly out of nowhere. Andy frowned, confused at the shift in the conversation. “When I’m at work, there is apparently this silent rule that ‘no one touches Miranda’. Which, would suits me just fine if it didn’t damage my image. In my earlier days in the fashion industry, I was considered dynamic, innovating. Now, I’m the _‘Snow Queen,’_ or _‘The Dragonlady’_. They think I don’t hear the whispers or the names, but I do.” Miranda looked at Andy who was still curious about where she was going with this.

“But you— you don’t even hesitate. You touch me as though I were just a woman, instead of someone to either fear or try to control. No one else does that. When you posed me that first session, I was amazed at your gall. I almost left the studio that first day, but something made me stay.” Miranda paused and smiled, softly.

“What made you stay?” Andy asked, curious to know what exactly had made Miranda forgo her own comfort zone.

“You were gentle.” Miranda said with a small dismissive shrug, as thought that explained everything. Andy understood what it was that she meant. Andy had been gentle, and Miranda had not felt threatened by her touch, despite the fact that her painting method was fairly invasive.

“You touched me like I was the art, instead of your painting.” Miranda murmured and came closer to where Andy was standing. She put a hand on Andy’s face and drew her in closer. Just before their lips touched, she whispered, “You made me feel… _precious._ ”

Andy closed the distance between them then and pressed her back against the counter, trying to remind herself to be careful of Miranda’s ribs and shoulder.

Andy gripped Miranda’s hips, gently, tugging her closer to her. She felt Miranda’s mouth moving against her own and felt a flood of desire rush through her. She pulled back just long enough to murmur, “God, Miranda. You are precious to me.”

She felt Miranda gasp quietly in her arms, more than she heard her. Andy kissed her again and Miranda moaned against her lips. Andy heard the door of the nursery shut and remembered that they were not alone. Even if it was just the nanny who saw them, it was an unnecessary risk she wasn’t prepared to take.

She broke the kiss and Miranda swayed forward subconsciously, her lips still trembling for more.

Andy took her hand and without asking permission, led her to the bedroom.

She shut the door behind them and locked it behind them. Miranda had sat down on the bed, watching Andy cautiously. She walked over, slowly, trying to make her intentions clear with every move. When she was in front of Miranda she went to floor, sitting on her knees. She place her hands on Miranda’s thighs and looked up at the woman, still flushed and breathless from their earlier kisses.

Andy let a question appear in her expression, lifting and eyebrow. Miranda bit her lip and nodded once. Andy noticed her swallowing hard. She was trusting Andy to be gentle. She was _trusting_ her.

Andy tugged the pajama pants down and Miranda lifted herself to help her. Andy had forgotten that she hadn’t given Miranda any underwear and was a little surprised to see that she wore none. Miranda was watching Andrea closely for her reaction.

Instead of saying anything Andy merely gave her a small smile before kissing the inside of her knee, coming closer and closer to her center. She felt Miranda tense when Andy pushed her legs apart a bit further. She ran her hands up and down her thighs, trying to reassure and calm her.

“Lie back.” Andy murmured between kisses to her thighs. Miranda looked at her sharply, her anxieties clear in her eyes.

“Trust me. Let me show you how precious you are.” Andy said, and sat up far enough to kiss her softly again. Miranda did as she was bid and Andy murmured, “That’s right. There we go.” She went back to kissing around the edges of Miranda’s core and then pulled back long enough to whisper, “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop. Do you understand?”

Miranda lifted her head enough to look at her and nod. Andy loved the flush in her cheeks, the way her mouth was slightly swollen from kissing, and the molten blue her eyes were flashing in her aroused state.

Andy leaned in and pressed the flat of her tongue between Miranda’s sodden lips. Miranda arched and gasped, her hands clenching in the sheets.

Andy repeated the motion a few times, earning a whimper from the woman beneath her. Worried that Miranda would not appreciate being penetrated, she only used her tongue, and her fingers to spread her wider.

When Andy licked and sucked on the pert little nub at the apex of her lips, Miranda couldn’t stop a moan from escaping her mouth. Miranda’s hand came to tangle in Andy’s hair and she found herself pressed even more firmly to Miranda’s center.

She continued alternating between sucking and licking unhurriedly until Miranda whimpered, “Please! _Oh God!”_

“Please what?” Andy growled between licks.

“Let me come!” She gasped, writhing under Andy’s mouth. Her thighs were trembling with tension.

“Since you asked so nicely.” Andy sighed, as though she was put out. Miranda glared at her but Andy simply smirked and set back to her ministrations, only this time she pressed her tongue hard and fast against Miranda’s clit until she felt her clench hard and cry out and tremble beneath her mouth. Andy didn’t stop licking until Miranda pushed her head away weakly, gasping. _‘Woops. Probably too sensitive.’_ Andy thought, wincing internally.

She sat back on her haunches, her knees aching and her heart pounding. She’d made Miranda come apart on her bed and from the looks of it, Miranda had enjoyed it immensely. She licked her lips before using the back of her hand to wipe the moisture away.

“Come here.” Miranda murmured after a minute of having draped her arm over her eyes. Andy stood up slowly, heeding the protest of her knees. She lay down on the bed beside Miranda who promptly wrapped an arm around her shoulders and snuggled in closer. The affection was unexpected but very welcome.

“Thank you for that.”

Andy looked at her bewildered. Why on earth would Miranda thank her for an orgasm?

“It was nothing.” Andy murmured in acknowledgment.

Miranda shook her head stubbornly. “It meant something to me.”

Understanding dawned on Andy’s features. She had not been treated with any tenderness in a long time. She was thanking Andy for that, more than anything.

“One day, I hope you’ll come to expect me to be generous, rather than feel that it’s something so unusual that it deserves gratitude.”

Miranda said nothing. Andy saw the tears fill her eyes before she could turn into the crook of Andy’s neck and hide them. After another few minutes of enjoying the afterglow, Miranda pulled away and sat up gingerly.

“I have to go.”

“Do you really have to?” Andy murmured, pained to see her leave the security of her apartment.

“I do. If I don’t, he’ll send people to look for me. And trust me when I say, you do not want that to happen.” Miranda whispered, the shadow of bad memories, darkening her eyes. Andy sat up and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I’ll drive you over then.” She said, leaving no room for protest. She’d be damned if she had to let Miranda out of sight one minute earlier than absolutely necessary.

“We’ll stop be the Runway offices to get you some clothes first, and then I’ll drive you back to the townhouse.”

“Yes, that would be ideal.” Miranda replied. She stood up and pulled the pajama pants back on.

 

* * *

 

 

Andy had had Mark drive them and retrieve the clothes which Miranda changed into in the back seat with the privacy screened raised, without complaint. They’d left the privacy screen up for th rest of the trip.

Andy held Miranda’s slightly smaller hand in hers, on the leather seat of the car. It was a small comfort, knowing that soon she would have to let go and leave Miranda at the mercies of that monstrous man.

Once the car pulled up in front of the town house, Andy gulped and her clenched Miranda’s hand a little too hard in her own. Miranda pulled her hand away, casting a reproachful glance at Andy.

Despite the dark rings under her eyes, Miranda looked remarkably well for someone who had been— Andy’s trail of thought was interrupted.

“I’ll tell Emily to set up an appointment for some time later this week.” Miranda murmured casually.

Andy gapped at her, unable to comprehend how she could sound so normal, as though nothing had changed. Then something clicked in her mind and Andy realised Miranda was asking to see her again and soon.

“Yes of course. Call me, if— if you need to.” Andy’s words came out stilted. The last place in the world she wanted Miranda to be was anywhere near Stephen, and that was exactly where she was headed.

“He’ll be at work, for another hour of so.” Miranda informed her blandly, as if reading her thoughts was something that came naturally to her.

Andy couldn’t prevent the concern she felt from spreading over her features and Miranda scowled at her.

“Stop that.” Miranda ordered brusquely. Andy flinched, shut her eyes and ground her teeth. When she opened her eyes, Andy noticed that Miranda’s hands were clenched together in her lap, over the sable coat she wore.

“I’m sorry.” She murmured, unsure of what else she could say. Miranda hmph'd at her, the sound bitter and terse. Then she turned to look at Andy, and their eyes met. Miranda’s gaze told Andy that she was angry but resigned. There was no easy way to do this. They simply had to get it over with. Miranda reached for the car door handle, tugging the door open before Andy said, “Miranda! Wait—”

And to Andy’s amazement Miranda did stop, and wait. Andy took her chance. She pushed herself forward on the seat and pressed her mouth to Miranda’s unmoving lips. For a moment, Andy feared she’d over stepped her bounds but then Miranda’s hand cupped her jaw and kissed her back, slowly, tenderly.

When they pulled apart, Miranda gave Andy a small, sad smile.

Then she exited the car without turning back. In moments she was up the steps and had rang the doorbell to be admitted by the nanny, and greeted by her daughters, returned from their sleepover. Andy caught a glimpse of the red haired twins before the front door shut behind Miranda, leaving Andy sitting in the car to stare at it, a sensation of dread sinking into her stomach.

Ordering the car to drive away, back home, had been difficult. Andy was keenly aware that Miranda was no longer safe, once again.

This had to stop. And it had to stop soon. She’d kill the bastard herself if she had to.

She resolved to call Henry and demand a progress report, no matter how unsatisfying it might be to hear of his slow pace. It would be better than feeling as though nothing was being done to put a stop to it.

 

\- TBC-

**Author's Note:**

> (A/N: Fair warning, I will likely be slow to update. Please remember to comment! I hope you enjoyed it! :D)


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